


A Perhaps

by anomalation



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussions of Sorting, Multi, Nightmares, Overly Researched Foods, Wand lore, background lesbians, but only in flashbacks, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalation/pseuds/anomalation
Summary: All the typical fix-it fic plot points - Credence is alive, he goes to England with Newt, and they discover they're good for each other. With some twists; Newt's flamboyant friends, a little magical training, and a heaping helping of the magical (and nonmagical) creatures themselves.





	A Perhaps

Credence awakens on his back. Everything’s blurry and there’s ringing in his ears. He hears a voice, tinny and far away. “Hey, he’s waking up.” He tries to sit up, and the same voice says, “Don’t sit up too fast.” He feels a hand on his chest, and he freezes. His vision clears a little, and he sees the man with a orange hair kneeling next to him. The man takes his hand away quickly. “How do you feel?” he asks. “I’ve never seen this happen with any obscurus, so I’m not really sure what side effects you might be-“

“Stop talking for a second,” a lady says. “You’re overwhelming him, he doesn’t know what to think.” 

Credence blinks a couple times. “Of course,” the man says. “I’m Newt Scamander. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Credence is waiting for him to move, but Newt just doesn’t. He just stays still, watching with the lightest eyes Credence has ever seen. Except for his sister, maybe. His sister who looked at him in such fear when she saw who he was.

“Newt,” the girl says. “Explain what happened.” 

“Yes yes, sure. After your obscurus blew apart, I saw part of it fly out. Followed it here and found you, completely fine. Though we did have to conjure some clothes,” he adds. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

“He doesn’t know how to answer,” the girl says, “and I’m Queenie, darling, by the way. And time is of the essence, so if you can get your wits about you sooner rather than later, that would be helpful.”

That, Credence can understand. He needs to get up. So he sits up, and then he stands up. The Queenie girl looks at him with something strange in her eyes; maybe she’s scared of him. Modesty was scared of him. 

“Credence,” Newt says, and waves to get his attention. “Hello, hi. Please don’t get upset. We aren’t sure if you can bring the obscurus back yet and we’d rather not find out. You’re alright, you’re safe.”

“My ma,” Credence says first. 

Newt frowns, making a small crease between his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, she’s…”

“It was real?” Credence says. 

“Yes,” Newt says. “I’m so sorry.” 

Credence doesn’t know how to tell him that isn’t bad news. “What will happen to me now?” he says. 

“You’re coming with us,” Newt says. “Well, me. So I can make sure you’re alright, until we find somewhere for you to go permanently.” 

Another orphanage, probably. 

“Credence,” Newt says again. “We need to go. Please, come with me. I’ll explain everything, I promise.” 

Queenie looks down the alley. “We gotta go,” she says, backing away. 

“Have you ever Apparated before?” Newt asks, looking at Credence in the eyes again just for a moment. It’s surprising, a jolt. 

“No,” Credence says. He doesn’t know what that is. 

Newt takes Credence’s hand in his, and Credence loses his breath. “Hold on tight,” Newt says. “Queenie, be well.” 

“You too, sugar,” she says, salutes them and turns to keep walking. Then the world twists, his chest feels tight and he can’t breathe, he’s being constricted so hard his eyes feel like they’re coming out, and they’re somewhere else. He’s panicked, but it also feels familiar in some way. It was magic. 

Newt releases his hand. “We have a moment now,” he says. “That should get them off our trail.” He’s looking at Credence again, Credence can feel it but he can’t meet his eyes.

“Where are we?” Credence asks timidly, looking around them. There’s grass all around, huge trees, and the air smells different. 

“In the countryside. How do you feel?” 

Credence doesn’t know how to answer, or if he even should. He hesitates, and when Newt touches his shoulder he startles. “Oh of course, I’m so sorry,” Newt says immediately, and takes a step back. 

“No, I am. I ruined the city.”

“Hardly,” Newt says. “The damage has already been fixed, don’t feel badly. I shouldn’t have startled you, though.” 

That makes no sense whatsoever. Credence doesn’t know what to say, again, and silence has always been safer than the wrong thing. He looks at the grass beneath his feet. 

Newt tries to wait, it seems. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he finally says. “It’s clear you’re a wizard, and a strong one. Most children in your situation would be dead by ten, to make it this far you must be incredibly powerful.”

“I’m sorry, I tried-“

“No, no, it’s alright,” Newt says quickly. “That’s a good thing, that’s good. We’re going to get you a wand and help you learn to control it. It’s more than alright, it’s brilliant. You might even be able to help other obscurus around the world - you’re the only one that survived.”

“Really?” It all sounds too good to be true. He heard it before, from Graves, and that was a lie. But Graves wasn’t Newt, and Newt is always smiling a little, even when he’s worried.

“Really. Definitely. Come on. Let’s find somewhere safe and get some rest. You must be tired.” He raises his arm and Credence cringes. He isn’t tired, he should’ve said. But the stick in Newt’s hand is just a wand, and the sparks that fly out of it sparkle brightly, harmless. A few turn green. Newt decides to follow those, and Credence follows. 

They walk to a small group of trees, and Newt sets down his suitcase. “Tea?” he asks. “Or coffee? I have water as well. What would you like?” 

“I… any,” Credence hesitates.

“I’m having tea,” Newt says, opening the latches on his suitcase. “No trouble to get you some.” He pulls out a blanket and spreads it over the ground. Next he pulls out a teapot, two cups, and tea bags. “ _Aguamenti_ ,” he mumbles, and fills the kettle with water that comes from his wand, heats it with his wand again as well. Every time he uses magic, Credence has to fight down panic. But there’s no one here to punish them.

After the tea is finished, Newt fills their cups and hands one to Credence. “Are you cold?” he asks. “I wasn’t sure what to conjure, for your clothes. And humans aren’t a creature I’m particularly good with.”

Credence looks down at himself. He’s not wearing his own clothes, he’s wearing something strange. A sweater with long sleeves, and shoes that don’t hurt his feet. He’s comfortable. The tea in his hands is just warm enough. “I’m not cold.” 

“Good. Great.” Newt sips his tea, and looks everywhere but at Credence. “How, uh. How do you feel otherwise? Is there anything I can do for you? Food or a hat or… something.” 

Credence doesn’t know what to say. The pit in the bottom of his stomach that he thought was permanent is gone. His mind is quiet. He says nothing. 

“No need to talk, of course,” Newt says. He almost sounds relieved. “Most of my friends can’t talk back.” 

“Where are they?” Credence asks after a second. Seems like Newt likes his creatures, that’s probably a safe questions. 

“Oh, they’re in the suitcase,” Newt says cheerfully. “I’ll take you in to meet them, as soon as we know about your condition. Just because I can’t risk their safety, I hope you understand.” 

Credence does understand. He’s dangerous. Magic has corrupted him. So he nods, and he sips his tea and then worries he shouldn’t have. “Yes,” he says, voice raspy. 

“It’s just none of the creatures in there are nearly as powerful as you,” Newt continues. “With training, you could be one of the most powerful wizards alive, I suspect. But again, humans are hardly my area of expertise. I apologize. I understand it must be a difficult time for you, given what Grindelwald put you through, and the loss of your family.”

Grindelwald. Mr. Graves. Credence feels nothing, and then a powerful wave is rising within him and he tastes metal, blood like he bit his tongue and everything is very cold. There’s just the spot of orange that’s Newt’s hair, and then the warmth of a hand on his arm. Gentle. His senses fade back in as he remembers how to breathe. 

“So sorry, really I’m so sorry,” Newt is saying, repeating. “How about I don’t say anything about the past. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. How can I make it up to you, is there something I can do?”

He’s so apologetic, so kind and warm above all, so warm. Credence can feel Newt’s stomach-turning regret as fiercely as he ever felt his own, and he craves that. Feeling like he matters to someone. Like he felt before, with Mr. Graves, but he can barely think about that without feeling the past tugging at the edges of his mind, and so Credence is staying away from that. 

“No,” he says. “It’s okay.” He feels himself leaning closer to the other boy, even as he’s scolding himself for doing it. It’s wrong, it’s just wrong to want this and feel this and need this. It won’t, can’t last. 

“May I hug you?” Newt says quietly. Credence doesn’t know how to say no, doesn’t want to but should. So he leans in and allows Newt to hold him with an arm around his shoulders. “There there, it’ll be alright,” Newt says, still kind. 

“You shouldn’t do this,” Credence says then, before he loses his nerve in the face of Newt’s forgiveness. “I’m going to hurt you.”

“Maybe,” Newt agrees. “You’re not the first, though. Look.” He pulls back and sheds one sleeve of his coat, then rolls up his shirtsleeve. He’s pale, freckled, and he’s scarred. He might have the most scars of anyone Credence has ever seen, thick and jagged and layered on top of each other. “All creatures on earth lash out in fear,” he says. “That doesn’t make any of them evil.” 

Credence feels something strange, something fluttering in his chest next to his heart. Then it lashes out, and around him flowers form in the grass and bloom blue, yellow, and white. 

There’s fear after that, the usual burst of panic laced around his heart and lungs that accompanies magic seeping through his pores. But Newt smiles when he sees the flowers. “Brilliant,” he says. “That’s lovely.” 

Lovely. Credence savors the word. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, just so Newt knows. “If I did before-“

“No, you didn’t. I’m fine.” Newt pulls his coat back on. “We’ll sort this out, I swear it. Just keep breathing, alright? And I’ll stop saying things that are insensitive, also, that will probably help. Here, finish your tea.”

Newt’s quite unlike anyone Credence ever knew before. He’s frazzled and kind, but he’s also fierce. He magics them back into New York City, into a small apartment and then sets several spells around them, working quickly and efficiently. Magic feels like sparks in Credence's blood whenever it’s near, and he tries to let himself like it. Mr. Graves did magic sometimes, but never so confidently. 

Newt goes out to get food for them, and Credence must stay in the apartment. “I’m sorry,” Newt says. “But any wizard worth his salt would be able to tell how powerful you are, and Apparating again might be a risk. Do you mind keeping an eye on my suitcase?” 

Credence shakes his head, so Newt leaves. But he can’t stop thinking about Newt, even Newt, saying that his corruption is visible just at a glance. He’s sick and wrong, and any wizard would be able to tell so other people probably can too. His ma was right, there’s something wrong with him. Even among wizards he’ll be out of place. He’s just wrong, he’ll never be right and he won’t fit in. The sooner he accepts it, the less disappointment in his future. He should get used to it.

It doesn’t feel the same as it used to when it happens. Magic comes fizzling out of him, cracking a wall. Dust filters down from the ceiling. And then again, a bolt of something comes out of him and breaks a lightbulb. Newt’s suitcase shivers on the floor. But that’s it. No one saw it, no one’s hitting him for it. 

His panic spikes when Newt comes back, and he blurts out what happened. “I’m sorry, I broke a lightbulb. And I made that crack, in the wall, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

“Oh.” Newt doesn’t look mad right away. He looks surprised. “That’s alright.” He takes off his coat and hangs it on the hook near the door.

“No, I did it with magic,” Credence clarifies, because Newt must not understand. “It just… it came out, I…” 

“ _Reparo_ ,” Newt murmurs, pointing his wand at the lightbulb, and all the pieces fly back together. Same to the wall. Then he looks at Credence. “It’s really quite alright. Every wizard has accidents. I couldn’t find any fish, but I have sandwiches and chips. Egg salad and beef steak, what do you like?” He pulls a chair over near the sofa. 

Credence hears him, but the words hardly register until Newt is unwrapping the waxed paper packages. It smells so good, rich and sour and sharp and savory. The sandwiches are thick, wrapped next to pickles. And Newt has cones of more paper, filled with fries that are still steaming. 

“Do you have a preference?” Newt repeats. 

He doesn’t. He’s never had either, never had fries. Ma didn’t let him. But he’s trying not to think about her, trying to keep the magic in himself from bursting out through the seams again. 

Credence doesn’t realize he hasn’t answered until Newt talks again. “So we’ll each have a half of both, that’s good. Here, take your share.” He hands Credence one of the fries and sandwiches. Then he trades, half of his sandwich for half of Credence’s, and the room is just warmer with him in it. 

Newt eats a fry, and Credence copies him. It’s greasy and crispy, so good it feels like he must be doing something wrong. But before he can panic again, Newt starts talking in his soft mumble. “Before I went to school, I broke someone’s arm accidentally. They were hurting a cat, but of course that wasn’t a good enough reason. Still, I couldn’t… couldn’t stop myself. It happened. And that’s not… that didn’t make magic bad. Or me. It’s just part of us, for better or worse. It’ll get easier.” 

“When did you go to school?” Credence asks when Newt pauses. It seems like Newt might like questions. They make his eyes sparkle and his voice smile. 

“I was eleven,” Newt says. “That’s when Hogwarts sends their letters. I think the American schools do it differently, though.” He glances at Credence. “We can see what they do in particular, and you can attend if you want to. How does that sound?”

Credence isn't sure. He’s waiting for Newt to take a bite before he does. Newt does at last, and he copies him. Egg salad first, a big bite, and it’s so good Credence doesn’t know how to describe it. It’s like he’s never really eaten before today. He takes another bite, and another, and he’s eaten half the sandwich before he hears Ma scolding him for his gluttony so loud he almost wonders if Newt can hear it. 

But Newt’s just eating, finished his half too and his pickle. When Credence makes eye contact with him, he gives him a little smile. “Something the matter?” he says. 

“No,” Credence answers. “It’s good. Thank you.” 

They eat the whole meal out of their laps, and afterward Newt says, “I have to take care of some of my friends.” 

“Okay.” 

“Would you like to get some rest while you wait? C’mon.” He stands, and Credence follows suit. Newt picks up his case and leads him into the bedroom. “Here,” he says. “Sit right here in bed, and I’ll be here.” He puts the suitcase on the end of the bed. Credence obeys him instinctively.

Newt opens the suitcase then, and it’s not a normal piece of luggage. It’s bottomless, possibly, and Newt steps down into it on some kind of ladder. He pauses, half in and out, and looks at Credence. “Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes.” The bed is the most comfortable one he’s been in, and Newt’s apartment is already warmer and safer than any place he can think of. But Newt leaving is frightening too, wherever the suitcase goes. 

“Okay. Good. I’ll be back in twenty minutes at the most, I promise. I’ll leave the lid open. In the meantime, I’ve got this for you.” He pulls something out from in the suitcase by his knees; a pamphlet. He hands it to Credence. The cover reads, _No-Maj parents? No problem!_ “Tina gave this to me for you. Introduction to all of this, to get you started. Alright?” 

“Yes, thanks.” 

“No need to thank me,” Newt says cheerfully, and descends into the suitcase. There’s distant rustling from within after that, a faint whiff of something musty, but never loud enough to pay any sort of attention to. 

Credence opens the pamphlet with a sinking feeling in his stomach, but it just explains some things. Terms like no-maj and Ilvermorney, and where people get wands. And squib, the word Mr. Graves hurled at him, which doesn’t seem that bad explained. Having no magic wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

Newt’s back before he has time to worry. “Was that helpful?” he asks, pointing at the pamphlet.

“Yes,” Credence nods. He watches Newt climb out and shut the case. Then Newt sits next to him on the bed, which is a bit of a surprise. He rolls his sleeve up slowly, and the twist in his face is familiar well before Credence sees the long, bloody gouge. 

“No need to worry,” Newt says. “Just a scrape from the Graphorns. They’re very sorry.” But when he flexes his hand, he lets out a sound of pain. 

Credence leans forward without really thinking about what he’s doing, and the sparks in his veins come out through his fingertips almost on purpose. Newt’s skin knits back together under his touch. This magic doesn’t hurt like Mr. Graves’ did, it feels like it’s alive. And only after, when Newt’s arm is pale and whole, does he realize this might not have been a good idea. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, even though it’s probably too late. “I just…” 

“How did you learn how to do that?” Newt asks. 

“I, uh. I watched Mr. Graves, he did it for me, I just thought…” Credence withdraws his hands. 

Newt stops him. “That is incredible, and very advanced, actually. Thank you, that was fantastic.” 

Credence can’t help but lean into Newt. Soft touch from a person who acts like he likes him. He can’t remember wanting something more. 

“Forgive me for needing to ask,” Newt says. “But do you want a hug, or more space until you’ve had the time to recover from the several traumas you recently suffered? I won’t be angry either way. I just can’t tell, I’m afraid.” 

“I want a hug,” Credence admits very quietly. Lying doesn’t help, he’s always caught. The punishment is worse when he’s caught. 

Newt doesn’t want to punish him. He leans in and puts his arm around Credence’s shoulders again. Same as always, Credence can’t stop himself from relaxing into it. But this time, Newt holds him tighter. “That’s alright,” he says. “Don’t mind a bit.” He smells like dirt and sharp greenery. 

Credence stays in Newt’s arms so long he’s embarrassed when they finally separate. He can feel his face heating, and something like tears are close. But he isn’t sad, and he isn’t scared. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“No, no need to be,” Newt assures him. “People need different things, and that’s fine. Here.” He conjure a blanket out of thin air with his wand and wraps it around Credence. “Everything’s going to be alright,” he says firmly. “Can I try a couple tests? I’d like to find out if your obscurus is still hanging around. I promise they won’t hurt.” 

Credence nods but he’s worried nonetheless. Newt won’t hurt him. But then, he thought that about Mr. Graves too. He thought he knew. 

Newt’s fingers on his wrist shock him back, but Newt pulls away at Credence’s flinch. “Everything alright?” he says. 

Credence shakes his head once. “Yes. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be, come now. Shall we try again?” Newt waits for Credence to offer his arm back out, and then he presses his fingers against the veins on the underside of Credence’s wrist. “Your pulse first,” he explains, and after he’s held them there for a bit, he takes them away. “Slower pulse is an indication of an obscurus in hiding,” he explains. “Yours was rather fast, so that’s a good sign.” 

“Okay.” Credence doesn’t let himself hope. it’s just the first test. But after shining bright lights in his eyes and listening to how he breathes and using magic for other tests, after all of that, Newt says, “Seems like you might be completely human. The obscurus may have been obliterated. The only way to really tell is to wait and see, of course, but this is very promising.” 

“That’s…” Credence doesn’t know how to react. 

“You’ve done magic,” Newt says. “Not just out of anger, either. How do you feel, do you want to try a spell or two?” 

His heart soars for a second before the worry catches up to him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“Sure it is. I’m right here to fix anything that goes wrong.” Newt hands him his wand. “Now this won’t be perfect, because wands behave best for their true owners. But it should help focus your magic. Try an easy one. You can summon something. Say _Accio_ , the name of whatever you want to summon, and point the wand towards it if you can.”

“What should I summon?” Credence manages to ask. He doesn’t know if his obscurus is gone, just that his heart is beating so quickly right now. He’s so excited he can almost taste it. 

Newt glances around. “My coat,” he says. “In the other room.” 

“ _Accio coat_ ,” Credence says dutifully, and points the wand. He feels very silly until a mass of blue fabric comes flying through the door and hits him in the face. When he pulls it out of the way, he can see Newt smiling. 

“Fantastic job,” Newt declares it. “On your first try, too. I didn’t get anything the first time. But you’re older than I was. How did that feel?”

“It felt…” He doesn’t have the words, but Newt seems willing to wait. And after a moment he puts his hand on Credence’s arm, and that’s as exhilarating as it comforting. “It felt right,” he says on accident, and that feels right too. 

“All signs point towards you being just fine,” Newt says. “It seems when your obscurus shattered, it was leaving you for good.” 

The obscurus that destroyed a lot of the city, but also protected him. It was good at magic. And more importantly than that, anyone who’s ever wanted him was because of it. 

“Something the matter?” Newt asks. 

“Well it’s just… you care for magical creatures.”

“Yes.” 

“And I’m…” 

Newt doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say until he gets it all at once, and then he says a lot very quickly. “No, oh no that’s not at all what I was trying to say. No, not at all. I’m more than happy to keep you, Credence. To be honest I could use the company. But only if you want to be here. I tend to annoy people. You aren’t hurting my feelings if you ever want to leave. Do you?” 

“No,” Credence answers truthfully. Newt hugged him, and he fed him and let him use his wand. He is without a doubt the nicest person Credence knows. 

“Alright. Well. We’ll stay here for the night, and tomorrow we’ll be heading back to England. No MACUSA there, and I have better connections. We’ll probably have to take a Muggle boat. No-maj, I mean. Non-magical.”

“Okay.” 

“I was going to suggest I take the couch, but seems like you might prefer to share the bed,” he says. “Do you?” 

“Yes,” he manages. Just yes, when what he really means is that he wants it more than anything. He images for a moment that Newt might let him press against him, and for a moment he feels dizzy.

“Alright then,” Newt says with a smile in his voice. He takes his wand back and taps the bed a couple times. Slowly, the bed expands sideways, until Newt can comfortably sit next to him against the headboard which is what he does. He makes pillows with magic, and more blankets. 

It’s awkward for a moment, when they get in bed. Credence doesn’t want to ask for anything, so he turns on his side away from Newt and tries not to take up too much room. Newt lies down too, and murmurs “ _Nox._ ” All the lights go out. “Goodnight,” he says. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up for anything.” 

Credence answers, “Okay,” and manages not to sound as shocked as he feels. It’s just he’s had nightmares as long as he can remember, and waking Ma always got him hit. But Newt told him he could, and Credence is feeling so many things all together, in his chest, that he can’t sleep for what feels like hours. 

When he does sleep, it’s typically uneasy. But when he wakes up the first time, he’s under Newt’s arm, hugged close to his chest. Newt’s surprisingly strong. He reaches up to hold Newt’s arm in place, and Newt settles in closer. And then, Credence has trouble falling asleep again for a different reason, because this is so precisely, exactly what he has always wanted. He wants to savor this for he doesn’t have it anymore. 

In the morning he feels Newt get up and hears him use the bathroom. Newt comes back and sits back in bed. He puts his hand on Credence’s shoulder after just a moment. “You’re awake, aren’t you?” he says. 

“Yes,” Credence answers. 

“How do you feel?” 

Credence will never get used to being asked that question, he thinks. “I’m fine,” he decides, and he sits up to sit next to Newt. 

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. I should’ve been more clear. Are you ready to travel? We have two spots reserved on a ship back to England. I’m not letting MACUSA get ahold of any of you.” 

“Yes,” Credence answers. “I’m ready.” 

“Brilliant. We’ll be sharing a cabin aboard the ship. First we’ll make a quick stop at Macy’s, though.” Newt’s looking at his own hands.

“What is that?” Credence ventures.

“A big department store. We’ll get you some clothes, since I’m not particularly good at conjuring. Or fashion. I’m not great with most things clothing-related. Or style in general. I hope you’re a little better with it.” Newt finally glances at him. 

“No,” Credence shakes his head. 

“Quite alright. We’ll ask one of the people there for help. Tea?” Credence nods, and Newt gets up to make it. 

Credence follows him after a moment. Newt didn’t tell him to stay put, so moving can’t be too disobedient. At any rate, he won’t be mad, Credence tells himself, as he moves through the small sitting area into the kitchen. Newt’s never mad. Then again, the smart thing to do would be to stay in the bedroom, but Newt already has Credence hoping for more. It’s dangerous, and foolish. He's almost talked himself out of it when Newt turns a little and notices him. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have any food here. This flat isn’t mine. But we can go get breakfast on the way,” Newt says right off the bat. So he’s not mad, and he didn’t mean for Credence to stay there. “My creatures should be alright. I want you to meet them, I think they’d like you. Sometimes my talking gets on their nerves.” Newt smiles then, and glances at Credence for just a moment. “A smile out of you, that’s new.” 

Credence’s heart jumps even though he knows Newt means it as a good thing, and he feels his smile growing. “I don’t mind you talking,” Credence says, when he realizes Newt’s pause is for him to answer. 

“Good, then at least I’m not getting on your nerves. Tea’s probably done steeping, here.” Newt holds the cup out to him, and Credence comes to take it. Their fingers touch when he does.

They drink their tea leaning against the kitchen counter, shoulders touching, and Credence finds it hard to swallow. He’s so happy, he’s not thinking when Newt says, “Let me get my suitcase and we can go.” Credence just holds his hand out and it’s easier than breathing, the case and Newt’s coat come from the bedroom straight to them. 

Newt plucks his belongings out of the air in silence, and that gives Credence time to feel guilt solidifying in his stomach. He’s done something wrong, he’s made Newt upset and he’s ruined this. No one else to blame. 

“Well,” Newt says at last. “I try not to move the case with magic, just in case. I don’t mind walking. Thank you for trying to help, though.” He puts his hand on Credence’s shoulder, trying to be nice, but Credence flinches so hard he spills his tea on his sweater. 

It’s been less than a day, and he’s already forgotten how sickly sweet fear tastes in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he manages, and he tries desperately not to let any magic out. 

Newt is already talking. “Don’t be sorry, Credence, everything’s alright. You’re alright, I’m not mad. It’s okay.” 

“I spilled the tea,” Credence says, in case Newt hasn’t noticed. 

“I know, that’s okay. I can get it out. Come here. It’s okay.” Newt turns him to face him, takes the teacup and sets it on the counter. Then he pulls his wand out of his pocket, and uses a charm to dry the sweater. “I wasn’t mad,” he says then. “I swear. I was just telling you something you didn’t know.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s _alright_ , Credence, you must try to believe me.”

Credence nods, and he reaches out for Newt because - he doesn’t know why, exactly. To show him he’ll try and because he’s weak, he can’t help it, and he just wants to. 

Newt smiles at that, catches his hand. “That was impressive, though,” he says. “You’re already getting more focused. Try and keep a lid on that when we’re out on the streets, the MACUSA are looking for any reason to arrest us. Yeah?” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” They separate then, and Newt lets his hand linger on Credence’s shoulder. “Once we’re back in England, we’ll address this more.” 

“Address what?” Credence asks. 

“Your anxiety, being scared. There are magical doctors who specialize in that. I’ve been to them myself, they’re quite good at what they do.” 

Credence nods, can’t stop himself from asking, “When did you go?” 

Newt’s silence is noticeable again, but Credence forces himself to wait. He picks at his thumbnail with the opposite index finger. “I lost a dear friend,” Newt finally says, quieter than usual. “When I was at school. The doctors at St. Mungo’s were very helpful.” 

“Okay,” Credence says after a second. “What do they do?” 

“Different things. The pensieve helped most of all. But all of it was good.” 

Newt’s quiet then, and Credence’s stomach sinks. He made Newt like this. It’s his fault. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault. I was… I mean, it was… well, it was difficult. But nothing to worry about now. Come now, we don’t want to be late.” 

 

 

 

At the store, Credence is overwhelmed by the variety. Coats and shirts and vests in so many different ways that he can’t choose. Newt feels the same, he thinks - he glanced over the racks once, and has been scanning the room for nothing in particular ever since. So the sales lady chooses, and she chooses one of almost everything, piling them in her arms and then all but pushing him into a fitting room with them to try them on. 

“Um, Mister Scamander?” Credence says after she’s gone. 

“Hm?” Newt leans into view. 

“She… I’m putting these on?” 

“Yes, uh. That’s what this room is for,” Newt says. 

“Right, but uh. I’m… I don’t want to get blood on the shirts.” 

Newt frowns. “Blood.” He glances around and steps inside, shutting the door behind him and pointing his wand at it. “ _Muffliato_ ,” he murmurs and then says, “What do you mean?” He frowns, and before Credence can make himself answer he says, “Your mother?” 

“Yes.”

“Show me.” 

It’s different, showing Newt. Mr. Graves was always in a hurry; it was quick and illicit and felt vulnerable. But Newt not hurried, even if a bit twitchy. And he’ll help, that’s a certainty. It’s just a little cold. 

Newt circles him once he’s down to his underclothes. “Merlin’s beard,” he thinks he hears Newt say, and then a spell. “ _Episkey_.” Credence feels hot all over, then cold, and when he looks down at himself the welts and scratches are all healed, pink with new skin. “I can help with your scarring,” Newt’s saying. “I have dittany in my case.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m aware of that. Do you have any remaining pain?” 

“No,” Credence shakes his head. It’s surprising. The longer he’s around Newt, the better he feels. First the obscurus gone, and with it the sick weight of it in his gut. Now all the twinges of pain that he’s lived with since he can remember. He feels new. 

“That was probably the nonverbal spell you cast,” Newt says, looking at the stack of clothes. “On my arm. The words help focus it, like wands.” 

“Oh.” 

Newt nods, gives a small tight-lipped smile, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. 

A lot of the clothes fit well. Credence has to pick, and he has no idea how to start. He looks at Newt, who’s fiddling with some kind of twig on his coat. It looks like the twig is alive. “What should I pick?” 

“Whatever you want,” Newt says. “Really.”

So Credence chooses a crisp white shirt and a black suit. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “You can get a couple changes of clothes.” 

Credence doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t want to cry. So he picks a navy suit, and a plaid vest, and grey shirt. And a dark pinstriped suit, and a dark grey vest, and another white shirt. He almost expects the plan to be thievery, but Newt pays for them all, and a pair of shoes and a deep grey peacoat as well. “Are you sure?” Credence says quietly to him. 

“Quite.” Newt hands him the bag full of purchases. “Our boat boards in twenty minutes. Let’s get going.” 

Tina’s waiting for them near the boarding ramp, and Credence, as always, feels out of place. She’s clearly here for Newt, even though she smiles at him too. “You’re looking well,” she says. 

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s glad she hugs him so he can hug back. She tried to save him before, even attacked his mother for him. No one ever tried to protect him before her. She hugs tightly. 

“Has Newt taken a look at you?” Tina inquires, keeping her hand on his arm. 

“Yes,” Credence nods. 

“Alright. Good. He’ll take good care of you.” 

She can’t know how that’d make his heart jump, but it does all the same. Newt will take care of him, and not as a secret. As a fact. He lets the two of them have their goodbye alone; he moves away a little, and watches Newt’s face. Newt likes her very much. The salt air is thick with a fishy kind of smell, but he doesn’t think that’s why he feels sick. 

They board the ship after Newt’s farewell, Newt behind Credence. “This is it,” Newt says when he unlocks their room. 

“How long will we be here?” Credence asks. 

“Four days, give or take.” Newt sets down his case and runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. “It would be bad if your obscurus is still around and would happen to get out here, obviously.” 

“Right.” Credence fidgets anxiously. He can’t afford to forget what a monster he was, no matter how nice Newt is. The past doesn’t just go away. 

“What triggered outbursts before?” 

“Uh. My ma. Or, when that man I k-killed, he called me a freak. Or when Mr. Graves, uh, when he… he said I was a squib? And said I wasn’t… said he was through with me. And hit me.” Credence feels an empty pit opening in his stomach, desperate and ashamed. He shouldn’t have fought back. 

Newt glances at him sharply, a couple times in quick succession. “So. Physical or emotional abuse directly. That won’t be happening.” He lets out a breath and looks significantly more tired than he did just a few moments ago. “I doubt it’s in you anyways. You’d feel it.” 

“Are you okay?” Credence asks hesitantly after watching Newt lean on the table heavily.

Newt nods. “Just… winded. Grindelwald’s curses.” 

The curses thrown at him when he was trying to protect Credence. Credence’s stomach twists. “What did he hurt?”

“Not much. It’s just internal.” 

Credence isn’t confident enough to push. He watches, though. Watches Newt when the boat starts to move, and at dinner. It’s good distraction from his own uneasiness on a boat, but more than that he’s quickly convinced something’s really wrong with Newt. But he’s hiding it, and Credence understands. 

They go back in their room for good after dinner, and Newt winces taking off his coat. He clearly hopes Credence didn’t see, but he did.

Newt reaches over then, and picks a small green twiggy thing off his coat and puts it on his shoulder. “This is a bowtruckle,” he says. “Pickett.” 

Credence takes a few slow steps closer, and sees the little green thing has arms and legs, and a face. It’s unsettling, but that’s not why his heart is pounding. “Where’d you get him?” 

“A forest,” Newt answers vaguely. Pickett makes a high-pitched sound, and Newt frowns at him. “I can handle that, thank you.” 

“Can you understand him?” 

“Yes, just takes a bit of practice. Oh, speaking of.” Newt reaches rather suddenly for his wand, and Credence flinches away. Newt pauses then, and Credence forces himself to meet his eyes. “Right,” Newt says. “Sorry. I keep forgetting you aren’t okay.” 

“I am,” Credence protests. 

Newt says nothing. Just another brief expression of his, and Credence isn’t good at reading that yet. Newt scratches his jaw, then the back of his neck, and then he says under his breath, “Can’t very well ask you not to lie when that makes me a hypocrite. Alright.” He quickly begins unbuttoning his vest. Pickett seems alarmed, making small high-pitched sounds. Credence is as well, especially when Newt sheds the vest and starts on his shirt. 

“Here,” Newt says, and gives Pickett to Credence, fighting free of his thin tiny fingers. Credence holds the little creature as gently as he can, trying not to shiver at the tickle of its stick-thin limbs. Pickett says something, climbing up Credence’s arm, and Newt glares. “Stop it, don’t be rude. Credence is just as tall as me.” He pulls his shirt off then, and whatever Credence was expecting to see it wasn’t this. 

Deep red marks radiate from a spot on Newt’s side like lightning. They all join in one spot which is bruised even darker. Credence almost remembers seeing Graves shooting electricity of some kind out of his wand. Other spells too. 

“He, uh.” Newt looks much less well. “He was using one of the unforgivables. The worst curses, they’re forbidden to use in England.” 

“What do they do?” 

“ _Cruciatus_ ,” Newt says. “Torture. The worst pain you can imagine, tripled. That’s the one he was using. It’s all in the mind, but the way he cast the curse left… well, physical marks.” 

“Can I help?” 

“You can try if you want,” Newt says. “I healed it this far.” He’s avoiding Credence’s eyes more than usual, and after a moment, Credence realizes. Newt’s self-conscious. “As you can see this is far from the first injury I’ve had,” Newt adds quickly. 

Credence hadn’t really noticed the other scars, but now he does. There are a lot of them, strange and large. “Can I…”

“Yes, sure, but it won’t work.” Newt is awkward as Credence comes a little closer. He tenses, and Credence doesn’t know what to do. He mimics how Newt treats him, moves slow. He puts his hand on Newt’s side, just because that’s what he did before, and Newt kind of cringes but doesn’t move away. Credence forgets for a moment, how to tap into the magic running through his veins, and then he remembers and it’s almost a flood. 

The red lines fade first, down to raised white scars, and Newt takes a deep breath in and out. Credence keeps going, trying to heal the bruising and what’s under it, but the magic pushes back against him. Newt’s face twists up, and after a moment he pushes Credence’s hand away. “Hurts,” he says shortly. 

“Can you take something for that?” 

“I need to know what it feels like,” Newt says. He has a stubborn set to his face that Credence doesn’t want to argue with. “Thanks. Though. Now you.” 

“Me?” Credence feels a little like smiling. 

“You’re not okay. I’ve frightened you several times.” Newt begins putting his shirt back on, slower than he took it off because his hands are shaking now. “Seems like you’re in shock still. Lost your family in the course of a day.” 

Credence feels a little sick. “I… I didn’t hurt Modesty,” he mumbles. Newt just watches him, doing up his shirt buttons, and Credence realizes he’s being tested. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t know if I’m in shock.” 

Newt nods after a second. “Right. You feel numb?” 

“I’m… yes. I… but that’s not unusual,” Credence says quietly. 

Newt nods, putting his vest on next. “Talk,” he finally says when he’s buttoned up. “Communicate. I’m not good at it. We’ll both try.” 

He’s being sincere, and brisk which Credence thinks makes it even more real. It makes him trust Newt a little more, at least. “Okay,” he says. “Where’s Pickett?” The bowtruckle is hiding under Credence’s lapel. He climbs back on Newt the moment Newt’s finger is close enough and Credence tries not to feel offended. “Well,” Newt says then. “Do you want to go in and see the rest of the creatures? We have time.” 

Credence’s heart jumps in his chest, and he nods. “Yes.” More than anything. 

“Alright. Come along then.” Newt glances at him then, and smiles a little. “You like being close to people, yes?” 

“Yes.” Credence doesn’t have to worry about this being a trick question anymore. Not with Newt. 

Newt nods at the confirmation. “Okay,” he says. “The demiguise will like you.” 

 

 

They emerge for meals so no one on the boat gets too concerned, but Newt and Credence spend most of their time after that in the case. Newt loves his creatures. Credence likes them too, very much, but Newt truly loves them all and more than anything, Credence finds likes seeing Newt happy. He likes being useful too, and there are always creatures that need to be fed or groomed or taken care of. 

The first night, Newt sets up a bed with magic, a big squishy one with bright yellow blankets. He dims the light in the whole space with a spell, and then he looks at Credence, where he’s sitting in the bamboo forest. “Sleep in here?” he says. “With me?” 

“Okay.” 

When Credence gets to the bed, Newt is writing in a leather-bound book with what looks like a feather. The ink bottle is floating next to him. He glances up at Credence’s approach and then back down again. “That’s for you,” he says, pointing at another leather book lying on the bed. This one’s new, with a fresh feather tucked inside the cover. 

“What do I do with it?” Credence says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“Can you read and write?” This hadn’t occurred to Newt; he looks worried. 

“Yes.” Slowly. “What should I write in it?” 

Newt looks up, watches Credence pick up the book and flip through it. The pages are smooth and creamy. “Totally up to you. But when I… a long time ago, when I went to St. Mungo’s, they suggested keeping track of… well, uh.” He’s genuinely struggling for words, which Credence isn’t sure he’s seen before. “I felt… guilty. For a long time. About some things that happened at school, I. So. They had me keep track of what made me think about it.” 

“Why?” 

“So I could work out how I felt and improve.” Newt sounds stiff. That’s not very helpful, and it seems like he knows that. “Sorry,” he adds. “I’m not good at this.” 

Credence touches the point of the feather. It’s sharp, a wizard pen. “I’m sorry. I’m… why does it help you improve?” 

“How about I give you an example,” Newt says after a moment. “Whenever I say Grindelwald-“ He points at Credence’s face. “You do that.” Credence doesn’t know what his face is doing, but he knows the way his stomach sinks all too well. “Write that down.” 

“Why? I won’t want to read it.” 

“No, but you don’t want to talk about it either, I imagine. This way you don’t have to. They can just read about it.” 

Credence bites his lip. “I can’t… I can’t write very fast,” he admits. 

“Good thing there’s no time limit,” Newt says. Sounds like he might be trying to be to be friendly. He gets up quickly, and goes inside the shed. The floating inkwell comes closer to Credence, and Credence dips the feather in it. He won’t want to read it, but it’s not for him. Newt asked him too. So he opens to the first page, and he slowly scratches out a few words. 

Newt’s back before he’s done, holding a glass bottle of some kind filled with something green. He sits down next to Credence again and glances at him until Credence looks back. “Dittany,” Newt says, holding up the green stuff. “For your scarring. When you’re finished.” 

“I am.” Credence shuts his book and looks at the ink in concern. It disappears completely. “What should I do with it?” 

“Put it on any scar, leave it for longer than twenty minutes. Repeat if necessary. Doesn’t hurt, just tingles a bit.” Newt hands the flask to him. 

“Why don’t you use it?” 

Newt flushes. “I do, when I can. Unfortunately it’s got a nasty habit of interacting oddly with some of the stranger creatures I keep. So.” He scratches the back of his neck. 

It takes Credence a long amount of silence to realize that Newt is embarrassed. “That’s okay,” he says too late. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Newt says. 

Credence doesn’t believe him. And when Newt reaches towards him, he flinches again. “Sorry,” he says immediately. 

“Don’t be sorry. But write it down.” Newt’s avoiding looking at him again, quiet and awkward. 

“Why?” Credence says on accident. 

“What?” 

“Why should I? Just so some doctor knows that I’m scared?” His voice wavers a little, and he hates it. “What’s the point? I’m always scared.” 

He raised his voice, he realizes in the following silence. And he shouldn’t have said that, it’s not good to say that because then people can use that to hurt him worse. 

“Well,” Newt finally says. “That’s the point. And hopefully by writing it down, you can remember that’s all in the past.” He leans back against the headboard. “It’s good you got mad,” he adds then. “It helps. You don’t have to write anything if you don’t want to. Or you can write other things. Anything you want. You can’t do it wrong.” 

Credence looks over at him. Newt’s looking at something on the other side of the space. He’s not watching Credence for mistakes. He might not even care if Credence makes a mistake. And Newt’s trying, like he said he would. To communicate. “Are you mad?” Credence asks. 

“At you?” Newt asks. “No. It’ll take more than you getting a little loud.” 

He wants to know how much it’ll actually take, just to know. “Okay.” 

“Sorry,” Newt says after a long silence. “I assumed. But do you want to, uh. Share the bed? Or I can make another one, really no trouble at all.” 

“I… I don’t mind sharing. No. If you don’t.” 

Newt gives him a brief flash of a smile. “No. I don’t. The only other creature I’ve slept with recently was one of the baby graphorns when it was ill. Anything without hooves is an improvement.” 

A joke. Credence tries to smile. “Okay.”

Again, awkward when they lie down and Newt dims the lights. Credence lies on his back, listens to the beat of his heart in his ears and the hum of the animals around them. It’s distracting, but something about it feels like safety. 

“Again,” Newt finally says. “You can wake me up. Not a problem.”

“Okay.” 

“I’m serious. It won’t make me mad.” 

“Okay.” Credence considers for several long seconds before adding, “I believe you.” He clenches his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. 

After a moment, he feels Newt’s fingers on the inside of his wrist, pulling his fingers open. He lets him, and then Newt holds his hand. And Credence is so full he might burst so he holds very still. Newt rubs his thumb over Credence’s hand. “I just want to help you,” he says. 

Credence has no clue what he’s done to deserve this. He’s sure he’ll ruin it somehow. But right now he’s so happy he can’t bring himself to care about the consequences. “Thank you.” He knows he says that before he goes to sleep. He doesn’t remember anything else but a few hours of deep, complete slumber.

He wakes with a start, after a terrible dream. Graves was here, calling him a squib again, hitting him, and improbably Ma was behind Graves, egging him on. Credence wakes up feeling sick, but not alone. Newt is next to him, kneeling in bed with his hand on Credence’s chest and peering at his face. “Do you know where you are?” he says as soon as Credence’s eyes are open. 

“Your suitcase.” 

“Good.” Newt presses two fingers under Credence’s jaw. “You can breathe, but try not to move.” 

Credence obeys. There’s fear leftover from his dream, pinging through his veins, but Newt’s steady. More than that, he’s still. Definitely not worried. So Credence tries not to worry too. Even when Newt removes his fingers and makes a note in his journal. 

“Was that a nightmare?” he asks without looking up. 

“Yes.” 

“Sorry. You’re the only person in history who possibly survived the loss of an obscurus. I’d like to try and replicate it. To help other children. Was it realistic or fictional?” 

“Realistic.” 

“Did magic exist in your dream?” 

“No. Well, I don’t know. Yes.” Newt pauses writing and looks at Credence. “Sorry,” Credence says. “He called me a squib. So yes.” 

“But you didn’t see any magic done?” 

“No.” Credence hesitates, and then asks, “Why are you asking these questions?” 

Newt shuts his book. “Obscurus sometimes get out during nightmares. It might be a way to remove the obscurus from the host. Other hosts.” He rubs his eyes then, and he looks so exhausted when he takes his hand away. “Sorry,” he says then. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No,” Credence says, and he laughs a little, when Newt smiles. 

“Maybe that's good,” Newt says under his breath. “Alright. Well. I’ll just go check on the baby giant squid. Y’want to come?” 

The answer will always be yes. Credence nods, hops up to follow him and trips over a wheelbarrow. Newt catches his arm just in time, steadies him and smiles at him. He doesn’t address the mistake. Maybe he doesn’t care. “Your mother ran an orphanage, yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you help? Feeding the children.” 

He can’t know that the question will make Credence’s chest constrict. He always wanted to help, but Chastity got the privilege more often than not. She was better than him, less likely to influence them towards wickedness and perversion. She was also less likely to try to protect them when Ma turned mean. “No,” Credence says. 

Newt was watching him; he looks away when he’s been caught. “Okay,” he says. “Well, now’s your chance. Baby squid use bottles just like human babies.” 

Credence sees the soft glowing tentacles in the aquarium and remembers, “I can’t swim.”

“That’s fine,” Newt says. “They’re alright outside the water.” He reaches into his back pocket and frowns. “Oh. Where’s my wand?” 

“Can I summon it for you?” Credence ventures. It feels safe in here, with the lights dim. It makes him brave.

“Sure,” Newt grins. “If you think you can.”

Just thinking it isn’t enough, nothing happens. Words might help the magic get out. Creedence points back towards the bed and tries his best to tap into it. “ _Accio wand._ ” He’s half afraid he’s forgotten how, but the heady buzz comes a second later and the wand hurtles towards them. 

When Credence hands him his wand, Newt’s smiling so big Credence almost can’t understand why. But he’s grinning back, hopeful and delighted and tentatively proud. “We need to get you a wand,” Newt says. 

Newt mixes up a bottle of something that smells a lot like fish and hands it to Credence. Then he uses his wand to weaken the magic bubble around the water and coaxes out the baby squid. “Come on, love,” he murmurs. “We’re friendly. Credence, come closer, she wants to taste you. Well, squids don’t have sexes as humans do. But calling her an it feels rude.” 

Credence inches closer until Newt stops motioning him further. One of the squid’s thin tentacles pokes out and wraps itself around Credence’s fingers. The it’s damp and cold.

“See?” Newt says. “He’s nice. He’ll be nice. Come along, darling, you need to eat. You’ll be cranky if you don’t.” He gets her into his arms, then looks at Credence. “Show her the bottle.” 

There are no eyes that Credence can see, but he holds it up obligingly and the tentacles perk up in interest. It’s frightening. “What now?” he says. 

“You’ve held a baby?” 

“Yes.”

“Just like that. Come closer, she likes to feel secure.”

It takes some finagling, but Credence gets the squid in his arms and feeds it from the bottle. It feels a lot like holding a very soft sack of water. He can’t tell where the mouth is until she starts sucking on the bottle nipple, and then he hesitates, looks at Newt. “Is this right?” 

“Yes, just right. Look.” Newt’s still close; he tugs a few tentacles free of his arm. Most of them are wrapping around Credence now, the longer he holds her. “She’s clingy,” Newt says. His face is lit up pink and blue by the creature, close enough that Credence can see all of his freckles. “I’m sorry about that. I picked her up in Japan, where she was being kept in an absolutely tiny tank. The first time I opened it, she bruised two of my ribs holding so tight.” 

“Oh.” She has no eyes to speak of, or any face. Credence wishes he could tell what she’s thinking, if she could possibly be listening. The fishy mixture is now floating inside her semitransparent body, and Credence feels vaguely queasy. 

Newt is still so close. He lets the squid wrap a tentacle around his wrist, and looks at her with such tenderness. He clearly cares about this creature, and he’s letting Credence hold her. Credence is part of this, and he can hardly believe it.

When the squid finishes the bottle, they ease her back into the water and Newt seals back up the bubble of water. “Don’t try any magic on this,” he says. “I made these spells up myself, they’re complicated.” 

“Okay, I won’t.” 

“Good.” Newt checks his pocket watch. “Breakfast is in six hours. I’ll be getting up in four, so I’m heading back to bed.” He starts walking back through the space.

Credence follows him, stumbling a little in the dim light. “I can get up too.” 

“If you want. I’ll just be feeding everyone. You can have a lie in.” Newt points his wand at tipped-over garden tools, and they right themselves. “Sorry. For before. I made you uncomfortable.” Credence doesn’t understand, so Newt adds, “When I talked about your mother.” 

It seems like just the mention of her will always put a knot in Credence’s stomach. “Oh,” he says, since he’s not sure what else to say. 

“Seems I’ve done it again.” Newt scratches his hair. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“If you ever want to… y’know. Talk about it. I’ll listen. Probably won’t have anything good to say back, but.” They’re at the bed. Newt sits first, and looks up at Credence. “I’m serious.” 

Credence tries to think of a respectful way to say no. “I don’t mind waiting for the doctors,” he says. “It’s pretty bad.” 

Newt nods, and then he stops. “Okay, but. I understand bad, though.” 

“But not like this.” 

“Yes like this.” 

“Can you prove that?” Credence says, and he immediately regrets it. But Newt isn’t moving to hurt him, and there’s nothing angry in his face. He looks almost relieved. 

“Yeah, I can,” he says. “Sit down.” Credence sits, and notices Newt wince a little, pressing his arm to his side. “I helped keep a creature that destroyed part of my school and killed a student, and a friend used my trust. And I know what it’s like to not be the favorite child.” He pauses then, and touches his side again. “Sorry, do you mind if I lie down?” This hurts.” 

Credence is struck breathless for a moment by that admittance. It has to be a gesture of trust from Newt, who’s been hiding it from everyone. “No, sure,” he says quickly. “Can I do anything?” 

“No.” Newt almost cuts him off. “I’m fine.” But the way he eases himself down onto his back is worrisome, and Credence shifts closer in case he needs help. “What do you need to hear?” he says. 

“I… I don’t need anything,” Credence says. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m not angry with you. I’ve had to earn the trust of every creature here, I can earn yours.” Newt shifts a little, off his side, and shuts his eyes for a moment. 

“So did you have sisters?” Credence asks after a moment. 

“No. One brother. He’s older. An Auror. Fought in the Great War, and I never hear the end of it. They even know who he is in America, I found out yesterday, so that’s incredibly… never mind.” Newt’s silent again. “He’s a hero. And I was almost executed this past week. Can’t imagine my parents will be pleased by that.”

Maybe he does understand. From the tone of his voice, it certainly seems that he understands the twist in Credence’s stomach at every thought of his ma. “Do you live with them?” he asks. 

“No. No, I have my own place, but. It’s complicated.” Newt opens his eyes and looks at Credence. “You’re asking about my family, not the person I killed.” 

“Yes,” Credence says. “I’ve killed people too.” 

Newt nods after a second. “What did that politician do?” he asks. “Is he the one who called you names?” 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve…”

“Of course not. Though you didn’t really control that. And that thing wasn’t you, much as it responded to your emotions. That’s not even my opinion, that’s fact. It was a parasite on your life force.” 

Credence would like to believe that. It just feels too easy. He changes the subject rather than argue. “Do you know what will happen to the other children Ma was taking care of?” 

“I don’t. I’m sorry. I can try to find out.” Newt is tired, and Credence catches him twitching at breaths taken too deeply. 

“I’m okay,” Credence says. “I can go back to sleep. Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for every little thing,” Newt says through a large yawn. “I’m not going to stop. Or something. Here, lie down.” Credence obeys, and Newt looks over at him. The light is faint, but his eyes look like they’re catching all of it and shining with it. They just look at each other for a very long time, longer than Credence can remember keeping eye contact with anyone. It just feels safe. 

“Can I, uh.” Credence tries to figure out how to ask what he wants, or if he even should. He doesn’t manage to ask before Newt falls asleep, but that’s okay.

He doesn’t sleep well. He wakes up with a start again, but Newt stays sleeping this time. That’s okay. Credence rolls away carefully, and picks up the flask of dittany. He might as well see if it works. There’s a scar on his forearm he tries it on first, rolling up his sleeve like Newt did. The soft paste smears on easy, tingling a little. 

While it works, Credence thinks about all the scars he has, how much it will take to smooth his skin. But maybe he doesn’t want to. Newt has his scars, and they’re alright. Maybe it’d be alright to keep them. 

Newt sits up behind him, stands up all the way before he says anything. “Tea?” he finally asks, voice rough. 

“Oh sorry, I could’ve started it,” Credence begins. 

Newt shakes his head. “Do you want some.”

“Sure. Thank you. Can I help?” 

“No, love, I’ve got it.” Newt yawns and walks away. 

Love. The word echoes in Credence’s head. His hands are trembling, and he feels half like he’s going to cry again. It must not be a big deal to him, he must not mean it. But when Newt comes back, teacups in hand, he sits right next to Credence and hands him one. “Do you, uh. I felt that,” he finally says, his voice clearer. “You made a breeze. When I said, uh. It’s a common term of endearment, is all, and I definitely do care for you but I don’t want you to get any kind of… y’know.” 

Credence doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what even to say. Newt said it again, that he cares for him, and his heart’s so full it might burst. He sips his tea until he has some idea of how to answer. Newt’s still just waiting. “Okay,” he says. “No one’s…” 

“It’d just be like calling you dear,” Newt adds. 

That doesn’t make Credence any less thrilled. “Oh,” he manages, rather anti-climatically he thinks. He almost wants to thank him. “Okay.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Newt says. “I just. Well I’m overreacting, is what I’m doing.” He takes a firm sip of his own tea. “I’m sorry. It’s alright, forget it. How’s your arm?” 

Credence forgot about the dittany until he looks down at his arm, and the stripe left from a welt a few years ago is gone completely. “Oh,” he says. “It’s good. It’s… it just heals like that?” 

“Yes. But not if the injury comes from a magical creature. That’s how you can tell dragon trainers.” 

“You’re a dragon trainer?” Credence says, aware his voice is high and tight. He didn’t even consider that dragons were real. 

Newt smiles, a rare bright flash. “I was, for a while. They’re smart.” 

Credence feels abruptly dizzy, as he does so often since he met Newt. “How…” he begins, but he doesn’t know what to ask. He just thinks about dragons again, more. They’re real. “Ma said they were fake.”

“Wrong again,” Newt says, half under his breath with a twist to his smile that makes it seem like he might be mad. 

“Where are the dragons now?” 

“There are reservations for them, large stretches of mountains. They understand they need to stay there for their own good, they’re safe.” Credence is still stunned, and Newt smiles at that and leans against his shoulder for a moment. “This is what stunned you the most?” he teases. 

Yes, because they’re _real_. And if they’re real, and Ma was so wrong, the true enormity of what else Ma was wrong about is just hitting him. And it’s not that he doesn’t know that, but she was just _so_ wrong.

“You’re… amazing,” Credence says, and peeks over at Newt. 

Newt’s smiling at him softly, eyes a warm golden green. “So are you.” He takes another sip of tea and fiddles with his wand. “Breakfast won’t be very good. If you’re still hungry we can make something after. I often do.”

Credence hears him and he believes him but again, it doesn’t really sink in until they’re coming back down the ladder after breakfast and Newt says, “I’m making a fry-up, shall I make some for you?” 

The breakfast they had didn’t register as anything out of the ordinary to Credence. Oatmeal and tea, though Newt had grimaced at the tea and Credence agreed it was weak. “If… sure,” Credence stammers. 

Newt looks back at him. Something catches his attention; he pauses and glances at Credence again. “You aren’t hungry?” 

“No… I could be alright, you don’t have to,” Credence says slowly, trying to determine what the right answer is. “Only if you want to.” 

“That’s not the question, though,” Newt says, completely sincere. “Just tell me, are you or aren’t you?”

Credence trusts him, when he has a moment to think about it. So he tells him. “Yes,” he says. “I’m hungry. But I’m always hungry.” 

Newt’s face gets hard for a moment, and it’s frightening until he says, “Right. Well, you shouldn’t be. Do you know how to cook?” 

“No…” 

“I’m going to show you, then.” 

It takes Credence a bit of time to realize how Newt sounds. He’s upset. He’s trying not to be upset, but he is. And then Credence spends some timewondering how he made Newt upset - surely breakfast can’t be that important to Newt, right? - until he comes to the tentative conclusion that Newt isn’t mad at him, probably. He’d tell him directly. Probably. 

Newt has a stove down here, a whole kitchen area behind the shed. The magic that saturates the whole case falls off a little here, everything so distinctly human. There’s a small table with a chair, and Newt magics up another. 

“I don’t know American traditions,” Newt says. “We’ll make a full English. Without magic, until you get a wand.” He opens a cabinet and cold air rushes out, colder than ice. 

“What’s that?” Credence asks, briefly forgetting about everything else. 

“Oh. This is a refrigerator. We’re able to keep it colder with magic, but Muggles are getting close as well. It keeps the eggs and milk from spoiling for longer.” Newt still isn’t happy. He’s being short, which Credence thinks means he’s cross. He needs to psych himself up to ask, though. Anger is dangerous. 

Newt shows him how to do everything. They cut bacon into strips together, fry it, and sausages and beans and eggs. Then bread, cut into thick slices, spread with butter and fried in the pan last. Newt moves it all to big sturdy plates, and makes them both more tea. It takes until then, while they’re steeping the tea, for Credence to ask the question. “Are you mad at me?” 

“No,” Newt says immediately. “Not at all.”

“You seem upset, though,” Credence follows up a moment later, while his courage is still there. 

Newt sits at the table heavily, setting his plate down, and Credence follows much slower. “I am,” he finally says. “But not at all at you.” He takes a bite of his food, cutting off a piece of sausage and egg. Credence copies him. 

“Then why?” Credence says, when Newt doesn’t explain. 

Newt is annoyed, but again possibly not at Credence. He glances up at him and then away. “I’ve been trying to keep the negative emotions to a minimum, but,” he finally mumbles, fast and low. He shoves another bite in his mouth, and then says louder, “I’m angry at your mum. For treating you the way she did.” 

Credence was not expecting this. “She was trying to keep us on the path of righteousness,” he says. 

Newt’s face twitches, actual anger visible for just a moment. “She beat and starved dozens of children,” he says flatly. 

“She didn’t beat most of them.”

“That’s.” Newt fills his mouth before he can continue, and finally finishes his sentence once he’s swallowed. “That’s almost worse.” He glances up at Credence. “No one. No creature should be treated that way. Including you.” 

“I don’t…” He doesn’t understand. “It’s okay.” 

“It really isn’t.” Newt sounds more normal now. “I hope you can see that someday.”

They eat in silence. Newt finishes first, and sends his plate to the sink with his wand. It begins to wash itself. He gets up too, face tightening, and puts his hand on Credence’s shoulder. “I’m really not angry with you.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” Newt repeats, and as he’s walking away he ruffles Credence’s hair. It’s okay, they’re okay. Credence discovers he can duplicate the washing spell on his own plate. For a moment, he hears Ma hiss in his ear. _Witchcraft_. It unnerves him. So he goes to find Newt. 

Newt is in the shed, mixing up something in glass bottles. He looks up at Credence entering and then looks back down. Then back up, and he tries to smile a little. “Hi.” 

“Hey. What are you doing?” 

“Making a potion. The most traditional witchcraft you’ll see, I’m afraid.” 

Credence feels guilty, he thinks. “That doesn’t matter,” he says quietly. “I don’t… I don’t think what my ma did.”

“No, I know. Sorry. I was trying to make a joke.” Newt scoops a handful of something brown dust into a mortar. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes, I just… not sure what to do,” Credence says, which is the truth but not what he’s really there for. 

“Oh, of course. I have books, here.” He points at a bookshelf under the ladder. “So you can catch up. Even the muggleborn usually learn about magic when they’re eleven. So we’ll start there.” Newt seems to think that is an acceptable answer, and turns back to his mixture. 

Credence waits as long as he can before asking, “But can I help with any of your work?” 

“No. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Credence can’t stop himself from adding, even though he knows it will annoy Newt. 

And it does, Newt turns to look at him with obvious exasperation before his face softens again. “Yes, I’m sure. What’s… do you think you need to help me for some particular reason?” 

Credence shrugs. Newt is hurt, but he’ll just deny that.

“Your mother again?” 

“I don’t need to talk about it, it’s just making you upset,” Credence deflects. 

Newt sets down the flask in his hand heavily, and Credence flinches, regrets it. He knows Newt won’t hurt him. “Upset isn’t bad,” Newt says. “Did you get upset when your mother hurt the other children?” 

“Of course.” His throat feels tight just thinking about it. 

“Not of course. Empathy is hardly default. But when you were upset, that didn’t mean the children were doing anything wrong.” Newt looks over his shoulder at Credence. “Right? It was your mother.” 

Credence’s mouth is dry. “Yes,” he manages, feeling immediately like he’ll be smacked. “I suppose.” 

“Same situation,” Newt says, and he goes himself to get books for Credence. “Sit down, rest. Read,” he says, and hands it to him. 

“Can I stay near you?” Because that was the purpose of him coming in here in the first place, after all. 

“Sure,” Newt nods. No questions. “Sit anywhere, I’ll be in here for a while.” 

Credence sits and cracks open the first book, a history of magic. It’s better reading than Ma’s sermons, and now he’s got Newt here too. Newt who likes questions, and tries to answer. He’s stumped rarely, kind always, and Credence can’t remember spending more pleasurable hours in his life. 

 

 

 

He’s reading about the Salem witch trials when it happens. 

His heart speeds up, and his chest constricts so tightly he can’t breathe. First he thinks it’s a spell, then he thinks it’s the obscurus coming back, and then he’s so scared and dizzy that he just reaches out blindly for Newt and instead sets a wheelbarrow on fire. So that makes everything worse, because then he’s worried about the fire spreading, burning Newt’s animals and his suitcase and even Newt, maybe. Maybe he’s just destined to destroy everything.

He knows Newt comes to fix it, but it seems far away, like he’s trapped at the other end of a long tunnel and he can’t get back. He can’t move from where he’s curled up, watches Newt douse the fire in mute horror. 

“What happened here?” Newt says, looking at Credence. 

He can’t speak. He doesn’t need to; Newt sees it on his face immediately, and comes to him immediately. Credence is sitting on the edge of the stormhawk’s old enclosure; Newt stands in front of him with a hand on his knee. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Did you set the fire?” Credence nods. “Accident?” Another nod. “That’s alright, it didn’t do any real damage. Can you breathe, please?” 

Credence shakes his head. He can’t breathe at all, he can’t get any air in his lungs because his chest is too small, feels like. He’s dying, he’s going to die of this. Even Newt’s hand isn’t helping. _Burn the witch._

Newt looks at him for a moment, and then he takes Credence’s face between his hands and looks deep in his eyes. “Breathe,” he says. “You’re too tense, you’re not taking any real air in. If you can’t, I’ll use magic to help. Just look at me, I’m here. I’m right here.” 

It helps. Newt’s eyes directly in his, unusual for both of them, and his hands onhis face which is even more unusual, pulls him from the spiral of panicked thought. Slowly, the air starts working again, chest loosening just a bit. Credence takes his first real breath, and Newt lets go, takes a small step back. “I’m coming right back,” he says firmly. “Will that be alright?” 

Credence nods. He knows Newt will keep his word, and Newt does. He comes back with his book and a leather satchel of supplies. “Shut your eyes,” Newt says, and dabs something cool over Newt’s eyelids. “You can open your eyes. Can you speak?” 

“Yes,” Credence says softly. 

“Good start.” Newt seems to think this was a joke; he smiles, but continues seriously when he doesn’t get a response. “Alright, I’m going to take your pulse now.” 

Credence finds himself slightly disappointed when Newt take his pulse from his wrist, not his neck, but he doesn’t say anything. He watches Newt write down notes in his journal and reminds himself to keep breathing normally. Everything is alright. Even though Newt is waving his wand and doing some kind of spell. The outcome seems to be okay; Newt nods, and makes another note. 

“So what was that?” Newt finally says, and Credence does smile a little even though he’s not sure it was meant to be funny. It's just so like Newt to be so calm after everything that just happened. 

“I don’t know,” he answers. He’s still trembling; he clenches his hands together to try and make it stop. 

“You were reading, yes?” 

“Yes.” Credence dropped the book at some point. He summons it to his hand without thinking, which seems to exasperate Newt. He blinks a couple times and continues his questions. 

“And then what?” 

“I was reading about the Salem… the original Salem trials,” Credence says, his voice cracking. “And I just…” 

“The witch trials?” Newt asks, taking the book from him, and Credence nods. “You can say witch, it’s not a bad word. Generally just applies to women these days, but.” 

Every time Credence even thinks the word, he can feel his mother near. Hears her hiss it at him, with all the implications it came with in her mind. Devil worship, idolatry, perversion, failure. They’re sharp, they sting. 

Newt’s just watching him, though his gaze drops the moment Credence returns it. “Tina’s a witch,” he says, as if to convince Credence there wasn’t an awkwardly long pause where he watched him have some kind of mental break. “And her sister Queenie, who you met briefly. Nothing wrong with being a witch.” 

“No,” Credence agrees, but something must give him away. 

“You don’t like that word,” Newt says. “Why?” 

“My ma.” 

Newt clenches his jaw for a moment, just a moment before he forces himself to relax. He bites his lip instead. “Okay. Alright. Did it feel magical? That outburst.” He opens his book again, to make a note of his answer. 

“The fire was. But I was just reading, and. And then I couldn’t breathe, I just couldn’t.” Credence finds himself shaking again. He wants Newt to hold him. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, I can repair the wheelbarrow. You said reading about the witch hunts when it started?” 

“Yes.” The word still makes him want to cringe. 

“Can you explain what triggered such a strong reaction in you?” Newt’s talking in his way that means he’s thinking of the science, not the emotion. That can make things easier. But it doesn’t work completely this time. Credence is still uncomfortable and on the verge of tears. 

“Uh, they were just talking about their witches, and burning them for their wickedness and I just… it all… hit me. And I don’t know, I couldn’t breathe.” 

“What do you mean, it all hit you?” 

The real answer is that he doesn’t know. It was a sudden, irrational reaction. And yet he can’t bring himself to say that, because if he says it Newt could decide he’s actually insane, and if there are wizard asylums Credence doesn’t want to be committed. Or Newt could take him to a regular one; he doesn’t know which would be worse. 

“Credence,” Newt says.

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, you don’t need to be sorry. Just tell me what you mean.” 

Credence doesn’t want to. He’s scared to. So he stays silent, picking at his thumbnail with his other hand in his lap, waiting for Newt’s reaction. 

Newt finally lets out a deep breath. “I must be missing something, aren’t I? You’re not acting as you usually do, I believe. Right? I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this. Tell me what to do to make you more comfortable.” 

Of course. He feels foolish. This is Newt. He can trust him at least just a little more. “Uh, I’m. Can you.” Credence hesitates, reaches out for a second and then he loses the nerve. But Newt catches the aborted gesture, and he links his hand around Credence’s colder one. 

“Has this happened before?” he asks kindly. 

“Yes. Ma said…” He glances at Newt, who nods encouragingly. “Said it was the devil trying to take hold of me.” 

“Well, that’s just untrue. I’m sure it’s got a much more reasonable explanation. We’ll discover it, too. What helped most, could I have done something better?” 

Credence tries to figure how to say it without sounding pathetic. “This helped,” he finally says, and squeezes Newt’s hand. “And talking to me.” 

“Good, I’ll continue to do that, then.” He squeezes back, and finally his face shows some of the annoyance Credence could feel from him since the moment he mentioned his ma. “I’m… I’m not like her,” he finally says. “Your mother. Witches are beautiful, kind people.”

“It’s not the witches,” Credence says, though it partially is. “It was… everything. The burning. They burned them. They’d burn us, if they knew.” 

“Well, there are laws now, and courts. It would be vigilantes, and they’d have trouble burning any real wizards or witches. I don’t think there’s any real danger. I’ve been close a couple times, and nothing came of it. A freezing spell can do wonders.” Newt talking is almost background noise. Comforting. 

“Do you believe in the devil?” Credence asks hesitantly. Newt’s dodged addressing that more than once. 

Newt wrinkles his nose. “Religion is a tough sell to most of the wizarding community,” he says. “Most don’t. I don’t, no.” 

Credence is relieved, he thinks. No devil means nothing to be tempted by. Unless wizarding is the devil at work, and they’ve already chosen their side. That’s what Ma would say. But it doesn’t feel like the devil, holding his hand. “It wasn’t the obscurus,” he says. “That… whatever it was.” 

“Yes, that’s clear. There are non-magical reasons for this kind of reaction, of course. The healers will know.” 

Something deep inside Credence tells him the healers might find him beyond even their help, but he pushes it away. He tries to smile for Newt, tries to feel safe. Fails, of course, as he always does. But he tries. 

Newt is already thinking about something else, his eyes distant as he absently pets over Credence’s hand with his thumb. He blinks a couple times, and then says, “I guess I should put the bed back in the guest room. The last guest was a hippogriff, and the feathers in the bed unnerved her.” 

A whole room for him, and a feather bed. Credence can hardly believe it. “I don’t need that,” he says. “I can sleep on the floor.”

Half of him expects Newt to agree, _oh thank you that would be much easier_ , maybe he’d say. But Newt frowns. “Did you sleep on the floor at that place?” 

“Not often.” Only for the most heinous of misdeeds, after a beating when Ma wanted him to stay awake all night. In the basement overnight. But he doesn’t want to tell Newt that. 

Newt doesn’t quite believe him, but that never prevents him from looking friendly. “Well,” he says. “No. I have enough beds.” 

Credence nods, as if he understands but he doesn’t at all. “Okay.” 

“In fact, we should probably get above deck,” Newt says after a second. “We can see the ship dock, yes?”

“Oh, yes. Okay.” Credence gets up on shaky legs. His coat is in the shed. 

Newt hands him something before he darts off. It’s a chocolate bar; Credence knows the smell and the shape, but not the taste. He never got the taste. His sisters did once, but just once. Ma said it would make them gluttonous and weak, and Credence does feel weak as he looks at it. 

He follows Newt into the shed, again, always scared to be doing the wrong thing but Newt doesn’t care. He smiles when he sees him, even if he does smile at the floor. “Ready to go? You like the chocolate?” He’s putting on his own coat. 

“Don’t you want some?” Credence asks. 

“No. It’s for you. It can help fight off magical maladies, so I imagine it might help non-magical ones as well. Come on.” Credence just holds it in his hand, and Newt notices that too, as he fixes his collar. “Is this another hesitance I should blame your mother for?” 

“Uh. It’s just I’ve never had any. But I don’t think I need it all.” 

Newt holds Credence’s coat out to him, and answers once Credence puts it on. “You do,” he says. “I’m not having any, so. Go right ahead.” And he waits, so it seems he’s going to watch. 

Unwrapping it feels like he’s ruining it, the cleanness of the wrapping. Same when he breaks the first piece off. But the taste of it, the creamy rich sweetness, makes the rest irrelevant. And he finds it even harder to believe that this whole thing is for him. 

“Come on, bring it with you and eat on the way,” Newt says, already halfway up the stairs. He’s smiling again, a little awkward and impossibly kind. Credence follows him.

 

 

The buildings in London look much like they do at home. Credence doesn’t feel as out of place as he thought, especially when he isn’t speaking. Newt certainly is more comfortable, though he doesn’t fit in exactly. He knows how to navigate the trains, even the underground ones. He seems at home. Credence tries to copy him, relaxing his shoulders. It feels odd. 

They get off at a stop that says Stockwell, and when they emerge from the tunnels Credence wants to look everywhere. This is Newt’s home. He’s torn between wanting to know everything and worrying there will be no place for him. He can almost hear it happening. But Newt won’t do that, he has never broken his word. Not yet, maybe. Still never. 

“So, uh, we’ll probably need to go to market,” Newt says at his gate. He holds it open for Credence, doesn’t see Credence wince at the clang of it shutting behind him. “Tomorrow maybe, I think I can borrow some food from the neighbors. Well not borrow, because I don’t intend to return it. But.” He pulls out a key ring Credence has never seen before, and fumbles with a couple. Then he pauses, and turns to look at Credence. “Have you ever seen an owl before?” 

“A what?” 

“Right. Owls are large birds with sharp beaks. They look very frightening, but I promise there is nothing to fear. Especially if they come swooping from above with letters.” 

“Why would they do that?” Credence demands, increasingly alarmed. 

“Because wizards have no human post workers.” Newt finally unlocks the door and pushes it open, scattering a pile of letters. “Ah. Good.” He steps over them into the house, and Credence isn’t sure if he should follow but he does know Ma would have him pick them up. So he does, glancing up at the front hallway. A staircase stretches up in front of him, with steps down as well. The walls are light green. 

Newt comes back after a moment. “Oh,” he says. “No, you don’t need to do that. I was going to.” 

“I don’t mind,” Credence says. He’s already got most of them. Still, Newt kneels down to help him with the last few. “A lot of letters,” he observes. 

“Well, I haven’t been home for a year or so. Probably have a lot to answer.” Newt straightens up, and Credence does too. “Please, take off your shoes. And your coat. I’ve started a fire in the sitting room.”

Credence has never removed his shoes inside except for going to bed, but he listens anyways. Wizarding tradition, probably. He hangs his coat up on a hook next to Newt’s, feeling a secret thrill, and follows him into the sitting room through the door to the right.

The room is large and bright, packed with furniture that doesn’t match, even to Credence’s less than experienced eyes. A small dining room table with four mis-matched chairs, a deep blue armchair with a burgundy couch and pillows in all kinds of stripes. Past the table, there’s a kitchen. Newt sets the kettle on before coming to sit in the armchair, and he motions at the couch for Credence. “Please, sit anywhere. Would you like a copy of the Prophet?” 

“Sure. What is it?” 

Newt tosses it at Credence, who catches it with only a little magical help. It’s a newspaper. He almost throws it back when he sees a picture move, before he realizes that all the images are moving. So wizards have moving photographs. 

He begins on the cover story while Newt slits open letters and reads them. The fire crackles, paper rustles. It’s peaceful. He takes the first deep breath he can remember.

There’s a knock on the front door then, and a boisterous one at that. Newt sighs. “Oh dear.” And the door opens, a voice rings out. 

“Newton! About bloody time.” 

“We have a guest, Fleamont,” Newt answers. 

“A guest?” Fleamont enters the room in a flurry of emerald green velvet. He smells like clay and perfume. His skin is dark and warm, his hair curly black. Credence has never seen someone like him. “Who’s this, then?” 

Newt’s eyebrows twitch down. “Shoes, Flea,” he says disapprovingly. 

Fleamont rolls his eyes. “Right, right, your queer Asian habit. I’d nearly forgotten.” He disappears back into the hall for a moment. 

“It’s hardly queer if millions of people do it,” Newt says under his breath, then raises his voice. “This is Credence. He’s American, I picked him up in New York. A wizard too, but he needs a wand.” 

“No wand? Is that how the Americans do it?” 

“No,” Newt says, with a glance at Credence. “His mum was a Muggle, didn’t let him get one. Long story.” 

“I see. What’d you say your name is?” Fleamont comes back, sans shoes and coat. His shirt is startlingly violet. 

“Uh, Credence, sir,” Credence answers.

“We simply must form a club, Newt,” Fleamont declares. “Children with odd names who learn to duel impeccably. We can hold meetings.” He sits on the couch, leans back and stretches. “Is the kettle on?” 

“Probably ready by now.” 

Fleamont pulls his wand out of an inside vest pocket and waves it behind him in a complicated pattern, says something Credence doesn’t quite catch but ends with _accio_. Three cups of tea come sailing over merrily. “Well. My potion is spreading across the globe like fiendfyre.” He addresses Credence then, “Hair potion. This coif requires quite a bit of work to tame, it’s most inconvenient.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “But out of my inconvenience, I’ve made thousands of Galleons.” 

“Wizard dollars,” Newt explains without looking up. 

“You have different money?” Credence asks, increasingly bewildered. 

“Yes. Gringotts can exchange them for each other, so it’s not much of a problem. Though the denominations for Galleons, Knuts, and Sickles are hardly intuitive,” Newt begins. 

“This again,” Fleamont sighs. 

While he is Newt’s friend, and a fascinating one, Credence discovers that he doesn’t like Fleamont stopping Newt from talking. He has gotten rather used to Newt’s aimless talking. He likes it. 

Newt doesn’t seem bothered, at least. He slits another letter open. “How are the girls doing?” he asks, still not making eye contact with either of them. 

“Grand. Meg made her stage debut a month after you left, Dot’s recently back from an excavation in Gibraltar, and Flora is Flora. She’s sold a painting recently, I believe.” Fleamont sips his tea and winces. “Still too hot. Those are young Newton’s other neighbors,” he tells Credence. “They don’t have the advantage of rich parents or sudden fortune, so they share the house.” 

Credence nods politely, sips his own tea. He has no real idea of how to act here; nothing his ma would tell him would work. Unless Newt would want him to be seen but not heard.

Like he can read his mind, Newt looks up at him. “Credence. It’s okay. Flea doesn’t care about saying the right thing. I mean, clearly. Just look at him,” he adds with half a smile at his friend. “No manners. Don’t worry.” 

“Oh. Of course,” Flea says, then snorts. “Mother would be horrified, but high society never held any charm for me. I’m not nearly as well-bred as Newt, though.” 

Newt glares at his friend. “I am not.” 

“You are, you grew up in Westminster. You have two houses in the country.”

“For my mother’s hippogriffs.” 

“Right, like you never played polo.” 

“Not really. That was always Theseus.” 

Fleamont rolls his eyes at Credence. “The brother. Always complaining about the brother. Though I suppose I have no experience. Eldest, and only sisters.”

“I have sisters,” Credence says, almost on accident. 

“Do you? I’m surprised Newt didn’t pick them up too.” 

“Didn't have the time,” Newt says. “If MACUSA caught us, they would’ve tried to execute him.” 

“Execute,” Flea repeats, and Credence feels adrenaline jump into his throat. Why did Newt say that? Fleamont will hate him, or try to turn him in, or both. But then the man adds, “Well, at least you’re in good company. How many times have locals tried to burn you at the stake?” 

Newt turns a little pink. “Not often. But it makes sense from their perspective. I show up doing magic when they don’t know it’s even possible.”

“Right, but burning seems like a tad of an overreaction, don’t you think?” 

Newt shrugs. 

“Always the shrugs from him,” Fleamont tells Credence conspiratorially. “No charm whatsoever. Where are your sisters today?” 

Credence glances at Newt, who’s looking at him. When they make eye contact Newt speaks up. “One died in an accident, and the other is missing. Not that it’s any business of yours.” 

Fleamont finally shows something besides boredom or amusement; he looks sincerely apologetic, and Credence breathes easier. “Of course. I didn’t mean to pry. How can I make it up to you?” 

“Food,” Newt says quickly. “We have no food. Please.”

“Food for humans, or are you going to have me cut up another raw chicken for that giant scaly bat-like thing?” Fleamont demands, but he’s already getting up. “Shall I see if the girls are in?” 

“In a bit,” Newt says. “Just got home.”

“Of course. What about your trip, how did that turn out? Did you get enough material for the magnificent book of fantastic beasts?” Fleamont inquires, with a sparkle in his eyes. He’s teasing, Credence thinks, though he doesn’t quite know why. 

Newt looks up at his friend, half a smile pulling at his mouth. “Yes,” he says. “So much I think I’ll leave some out. Among other things, I met two obscurus.” 

Credence wants to disappear until Fleamont laughs. “Two,” he says. “When lesser men claim there hasn’t been one in hundreds of years. Of course you met two. I’ll come back around dinner, say?” 

“Good.” 

“Great. Pleasure,” he adds, nodding at Credence. Then he tilts his head. “Did I introduce myself properly? I can’t recall. Well, Fleamont Potter, at your service. See you for dinner.” Before Credence has quite worked out how to respond, the man has gone as suddenly as he arrived. 

“He annoys people too,” Newt says. “That’s why we’re friends. Do you want to see your room?” 

“Sure.” It’s more than slightly easier to talk with Fleamont gone again. He knows how to handle Newt. He’s even beginning to think Newt likes him, which is unfamiliar. Maybe Newt doesn’t know him well enough. But Newt’s at least predictable by now, and that’s enough. 

Credence shivers at the top of the steps. But Ma isn’t here, just another warm room and more stairs. “This is my bedroom,” Newt says, pausing in the doorway. “And study. And yours is up one more.” 

Credence doesn’t know what to say. His own room. 

They pass the first door on the third floor. Newt doesn’t open it. “There’s a lot of clutter in the back bedroom, so you’ll stay in the front. The washroom’s right here.” The next door they pass. So Credence’s room is the one at the end, overlooking the front garden. It has two large windows. The ceiling slopes a little, but not as steeply as his room at the church. He can stand up straight. 

Newt hastily mends the bed, fixes the ripped drapes and rights the nightstand. “Sorry,” he says. “I swear everything’s clean. That wardrobe’s yours. And you can change the color of anything you want in here with the spell _Colovaria_.”

“ _Colovaria_ ,” Credence repeats. He’s thinking of the room downstairs, the sunshine, but he’s still shocked when the walls and all the linens turn yellow. 

Newt smiles. “Seems you’ve got the hang of it. You can borrow my wand if you don’t want everything the same color.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

“Well.” Newt makes the same face he’s started making when Credence thanks him. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.” 

“Yes, I will,” Credence nods quickly. “Thank you. And I can help clean up, I can help with anything you want.” 

“I want you to get a wand, and to practice magic. And then we need to find out education options. Hogwarts or Ilvermorney, or maybe some kind of tutor to finish quicker. Once you’ve passed your certification, you can get a job. Eventually though, that’s pretty far in the future.” Newt has gone on a tangent. He realizes this with a flush. “But I don’t need your help around the house. Magic takes care of most of it.”

Credence is sure his ma would still find ways to use him even if she had magic keeping her house clean. “Okay,” he says, grasping for a subject change. “Do your creatures stay in the suitcase?” 

“Uh, not quite. Would you like to see?” Newt asks, after a moment of something that almost seems like hesitation. When Credence nods, Newt’s face lights up. “It’s in the basement. We can only be down there for a bit, Flea will be back soon, and I try not to leave him unattended. That was a joke.” 

“I know.”

Newt smiles at him, and Credence smiles back without worry.

 

 

 

It’s not that Credence thought Newt had no friends - although, to hear Newt tell it, it does usually sound that way - but no matter what he pictured, it wasn’t the scene taking place now, on his second night there. Fleamont is there, dark and dashing, and all three of the girls came by as well. Dot’s small, with brown eyes and a sharp chin. Meg is wider, a round face and broad smile that she flashes often. Flora, the youngest of the three, is dreamy. Ma would rap her knuckles every time she caught her with her head in the clouds. But there’s none of that here. 

Dinner is a cramped affair. “What self-respecting bachelor doesn’t have a dining table for six?” Meg demands, and Newt just shrugs, which sets everyone off teasing him about it. Credence still isn’t quite comfortable with that, the mass teasing, loud and frightening when he forgets what’s happening. He stays by Newt, who’s familiar. 

“You know I never have people over,” Newt says. 

“Yes, we all know you eat with your pets half the time,” Meg grins. 

“Just pull up chairs and stop moaning,” Fleamont pretends to sigh. He was doing most of the moaning. 

So Credence ends up crammed between Newt and Dot, eating potatoes and roast and listening to Newt tell stories about his travels. He tells stories well, as long as he doesn’t need to make eye contact with anybody, and everyone here is eating anyways.

He spends a lot of time on New York City, on Tina and her sister Queenie that Credence can’t quite remember. Also someone named Jacob that Credence never met at all. “You’ll love them,” Newt says. “Queenie is so funny, and incredibly kind. Tina is… well, she’s a lot like Meg, if you'd become a police officer and cared deeply about the rules.” 

“Sounds like a bore,” Meg declares. 

“She isn’t,” Newt says. “She’s the smartest, strongest woman I’ve ever met, and she’s got more empathy in her little finger than most people have in total.” 

Credence feels weak with worry, but Meg just raises her eyebrows. “Goodness.” 

“Seems like you’ve taken a liking to this girl,” Dot says, looking at Newt keenly. She’s smart, Credence can just tell, but sometimes she looks like Ma and he can’t keep looking. Something in the mouth. “How does she feel about you?” 

“She agreed I should come back and give her a copy of the book in person.”

Hoots from everyone around the table but Flora, but she’s smiling. “Might as well propose,” she says. “Do her parents approve?” 

“Dead,” Newt shakes his head. 

There seems to be a general sort of understanding, a brief silence. “Gracious,” Fleamont finally says. “So many orphans. America sounds terrible.” 

“Just different,” Newt says. “Non-verbal magic, as far as I can tell. But they had much more to fear.” 

Intense guilt crashes through Credence, and he falters cutting his roast. Dot is the one who notices and asks quietly, “Y’alright, then? Do you need some air?” 

“I’m. No, I’m okay. Thank you.” Credence shuts his eyes, just for a moment. A long blink, if anyone’s watching. And Dot still is, when he opens his eyes. 

“So you learned non-verbal magic, then?” she says. 

“I can do it. I didn’t learn it, it just happens sometimes,” he says hesitantly. 

“Brilliant. Have you been sorted at all?” 

“No. How would I get sorted?” 

“At school, they’ll put you in one. Or if you don’t go, you get to pick. I never went, but I’m Ravenclaw all the way. Pursuit of knowledge for the sake of knowledge. Loved university.” 

“Oh.” Credence avoids looking at her. The other four are having a spirited debate about whether or not Fleamont is a snob. 

“Newt, of course, is a Hufflepuff,” Dot continues, and something in her tone clicks. She’s doing Newt’s thing, talking as calming. So he listens. 

“What’s a Hufflepuff?” 

“They’re caretakers, community builders. Unafraid of work. He might be in love with it,” she says with a smile in her voice. “Flora’s one too, more’s the pity. And the loud ones are Gryffindors, no questions. Brash, bold, charging in heart first and asking questions later.” 

“None of those sound like me,” Credence mumbles. 

“Well there’s one more. Slytherin. They’re ambitious, and smart enough to get what they want. They’ll protect their own before anything else. But everyone is a little different. Once you’re more comfortable here, you might have a better idea. Nothing wrong with that.” 

He looks over at her. She’s taking a bite, avoiding looking at him, and he decides she’s nothing like Ma. Passing resemblance aside. He shouldn’t be afraid. So he sort of nods, and he tries to remember how to be friendly. He wants them to think he’s friendly.

“Maybe I'd be Ravenclaw,” he says to her. “I like learning.” 

“Maybe,” she smiles. 

The loud ones clear the table, Meg and Fleamont hopping up before anyone else and dismissing any attempt to help them. Meg brings tea back with her for everybody, and Fleamont brings scones that bake as they float over, browning slightly in the air. And they stay at the table, not as punishment or waiting for something terrible. For fun. Enjoying the company. 

“Oh,” Fleamont says. “Young Newton met two obscurus on his trip, he failed to mention that. Tell us about them.” 

Credence goes very still, and Newt too. He doesn’t look at Credence, but he weighs his words carefully. “The first one I met was an eight-year-old girl in Sudan. She was… I couldn’t save her. I managed to encase her obscurus in a shield charm, but. It drained her too much.” 

“Such a shame,” Flora says. “How did the obscurus get made?” 

“The family was intensely religious. She fixed a hole in the roof once, with magic, and her parents beat her so badly she suppressed it for the rest of her… for as long as she could. Amira. She was… she was so curious. About the world.” Newt’s gone quiet. 

“Suppose the second one isn’t a nice story either,” Dot says. “You don’t need to tell us.” 

Newt glances around the table, at Credence last, and Credence nods a little. He doesn’t mind if they talk about it. “Well, it’s got a better ending, at least,” Newt finally says. “Most powerful obscurus I’ve ever heard of. Destroyed whole blocks of New York before the Aurors murdered it.” 

“Bugger,” Meg says, earning disapproval from both the other girls. “What about the child?” 

Newt leans forward on the table. “Not a child,” he says, looking at everyone in turn again. His face is bright, the way it gets when he’s talking about his creatures. And Credence finds he doesn’t entirely mind being in that category. “A young adult. Over eighteen, well over ten.” 

“Good Lord, Newt,” Fleamont frowns. “How? Who was suppressing it that long?” 

“Abusive mother. Tina was familiar with the woman. She was an anti-magic activist, actually, which seems particularly… bad.” 

“Of course she was.” Dot shakes her head. “Deities and their irony.” 

Newt shares a look with her over Credence; it appears this might be something of a running joke. “They called themselves after Salem,” he says. “They don’t seem to know that they didn’t burn any real witches. But she lectured the children on the horrors of witchcraft, and at great length. It’s no wonder he formed an obscurus.”

“But to survive for so long,” Flora says. “He must've been particularly strong.”

“One of the strongest wizards alive, maybe,” Newt nods. 

But Flora shakes her head. “No, not magic. His will. And his courage. Imagine hearing every day that your very being is a crime.” She looks at Dot, who looks down. “Can hardly blame him. If I could destroy several city blocks, can’t say I wouldn’t.” 

Newt’s quietly still. “No,” he says. “I couldn’t blame him at all. I tried to… I tried. But the Aurors came before I could explain myself.” 

“Explain? To an obscurus?” Fleamont snorts. “What, you’d pack him into your suitcase and run away with it? Bit more work than a stray dog.” 

“Yes,” Newt says. “But it’s also a person, too. And no one's ever seen anyone who’s kept an obscurus mostly contained for so long. There’s every possibility that with adequate care, he could’ve overcome the obscurus altogether. But now we’ll never know.” 

After a silence, Meg looks at Credence. “And you? Where’d Newt find you?” 

“The obscurus killed my mother,” Credence says. His voice shakes a little.

Newt puts his hand on his arm. “Meg’s just prying,” he says. “It’s alright.” 

Credence catches Flora and Meg sharing a glance he doesn’t understand. Fleamont is the one who talks. “We all pry,” he says. “It’s how we express care. I’ll come with you and Newt to Diagon Alley tomorrow, we’ll get you all the furnishings of a proper British wizards.” 

“We’ll assimilate you,” Dot nods. “America doesn’t know what it’s missing.” 

“We’ll help you feel at home,” Flora agrees. “Would you like a painting for your walls? I’ll make you something.” 

“Thank you,” Credence says. 

“No trouble at all,” Flora says, unusually definitive. 

Newt squeezes Credence’s hand just for a moment before letting go, and he gets to his feet. “I did get you gifts,” he says. “They’re in my suitcase, I’ll be right back.” He leaves, feet soft on the steps as he descends to the ground floor. 

“Ah yes, the suitcase,” Fleamont says. “Do you know about his fantastic suitcase? It’s quite a tricky little charm. Layering of charms, really, with the self-contained gravity he put in there and the ecosystems he set up.” 

“Yes, I know about it,” Credence answers once Fleamont stops talking. “I helped him with some of the animals, on the ride over.” 

That raises most of the eyebrows around. “Inside it?” Meg demands. “Hell, he hasn’t let me in, and I watched him build the damn thing.” 

“He let me in once,” Fleamont tells the table. “Before any creatures were rescued. Imagine.” 

“You’re also bad with animals, though,” Dot says. “I wouldn’t let you near our cat. I don’t, in fact. It’s a house rule.” 

Credence is incredibly intrigued. Fleamont is just irritated; he leans back in his chair sulkily and crosses his arms. “One time, I scare the creature by picking it up at the wrong time and I suffer for the rest of my years. Hardly fair.” 

“She was under the bed for days,” Meg says into her teacup.

“Enough,” Fleamont grumbles. “It was hardly that bad.” 

“How have you been doing any magic without a wand?” Flora asks Credence, with a distinct sense of changing the subject to reduce the whining. 

“Oh,” Credence says. “Uh. Well. I just do it. But it’s not focused.” 

“Oh really? Do something.” 

“Like what?” 

Flora smiles at him. “Summon us some more scones,” she suggests. “On the counter over there.” 

He knows he can do it, but nerves still curl around his stomach tightly as he raises his hand. But the scones come to him, and he even manages to guide them to the plate. He realizes too late that he didn’t use the words, but no one seems to mind much. 

“Goodness,” Meg says. “That was just about textbook, wasn’t it. Have you trained at all?” 

“Just with Newt.” 

“Incredible job,” Flora declares it, and Credence flushes warm with hope. 

Newt comes back then, a collection of things in his hands covered by brown paper. “Sorry, no wrapping.” He sits back down and hands things out one by one. “Flora.” A thick sketchbook, bound in strange textured paper. “Paper from Beijing. Meg, for you.” A record. “Best jazz band in Chicago.” 

“Newt, you’re a genius,” Meg says, inspecting the cover. “I’m well pleased.” 

Newt smiles a little. “Dot, I wasn’t able to get to Kurdistan but I picked up something in Libya. Purchased from a local craftsman, I swear,” he adds with a grin. A small clay bowl, covered in painted patterns. 

“Incredible,” Dot smiles. “Thank you.” 

“Last but not least.” He hands Fleamont something in a bag. 

“Porcupine quills,” Fleamont announces after looking. “For my potions. Very kind of you, Newt. I assume no porcupines were harmed for these?” 

“Right.” Newt gives the tablecloth in front of him a small smile. “No. I may look into getting them, they’re quite interesting creatures.” 

“Surprising,” Meg rolls her eyes. 

“Convenient,” Fleamont agrees. 

Newt's friends don’t leave until long after the sun has gone down, lamps lighted by Newt and Fleamont with a new spell for Credence to learn, _Lumos_. And even after they leave, Credence hears the three girls laughing on their way next door, Meg the loudest. 

“You can go to your room if you want to,” Newt says. He straightens his coat on the hook, avoiding Credence’s eyes, and after a night of direct looks from his friends it seems strange, for once. “Or you can come sit with me, I’ll be in my study. I need to get started on my manuscript.” 

Credence wants to be with Newt. But he saw how Newt’s shoulder’s sagged, just for a moment when everyone left, and he thinks he knows what that means. Newt’s tired. Traveling for a year? He’d be tired too. 

“Credence,” Newt repeats, and looks at him. “Do you want to be alone or with company?” 

“What do you want?” Credence asks, and he’s glad he said it. Newt does better than smile; he relaxes.

“I enjoy your company,” he says. “Please sit with me if you’d like to.”

“Okay. It’s just people have been here for so long.” 

“Yeah, they’re usually around. Besides, I’ve gotten used to you.” Credence wouldn’t be sure that’s a good thing, except for the smile on Newt’s face when he says it. So he follows Newt up to the second floor.

“Should I get my books?” he asks when Newt sits down at his desk. 

“Oh, yeah. I’ll be spending the evening on this.” 

Credence gets books from his room - _his room._ The stairs don’t make him shiver anymore; he goes up them in socks, and there’s never anyone waiting at the top. When he gets back down, Newt turns from his writing and points his wand at a spare chair. He charms it into a wide, soft armchair, and sends pillows sailing across the room from his bed. “Thank you,” Credence says in surprise. “The other was alright.” 

“Credence,” Newt says, patiently firm. “I’d like you to be comfortable. The other chair wasn’t comfortable. Alright?”

“Yes.” Credence has to smile, he has to. “Thank you.”

Newt makes the face again, and turns back to his work. “We should’ve had a plan,” he said. “To explain me taking you.” 

“Was that okay?” 

“Yes. You thought on your feet, that was good.” Seems like they’re done talking, so Credence sits and opens his book. He’s a few lines into a history of Hogwarts when Newt speaks up again. “I shouldn’t have brought up the obscurus without asking you before. I don’t want to treat you like a specimen. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I didn’t mind.” That’s not enough, Credence can still feel Newt’s apology seeping off him into the air between them. So he tries to think of a way to go further. “I like being a specimen. Helping other people.” 

“Would you like a blanket?”

Credence feels warmth, blooming in his heart and spreading through the rest of him. “Sure, thank you.” 

A blanket unfolds itself from a dresser and floats over to wrap itself around Credence. “Don’t _Accio_ anything between rooms,” Newt says then. “It will break through walls if you’re not careful.”

“Okay.” 

Silence then, for a long, peaceful time. The only sounds are Newt’s quill scratching over paper, the crackling of the fireplace, the wind outside the window, and something breathing Credence can’t quite see. The only other place Credence felt so safe was the suitcase. He thinks maybe it’s just Newt. 

“No nightmares last night?” Newt breaks the silence.

“No.” 

“Did you dream at all?” 

“Not that I can remember.” Credence picks at the corner of a page. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Always better in my own bed.” 

After a moment, Credence hazards another question. “I hear breathing. Is that a creature?” 

“Oh!” Newt turns in his chair, his face lit up. “That’s the moke, would you like to meet him?” 

Credence very much would. He spends much of the evening with a lizard in his lapafter that, and it’s the closest he’s felt to what he imagines is normal. Not scared or cold or even unsure. He’s reading a book and touching a creature he can’t always see, and he’s thinking about Newt at the desk, all the creatures in the basement, and if this could be what belonging feels like. It feels like he fits here, with the misfits and odds and ends. 

“Well,” Newt finally says. “I’m gonna get some sleep.” 

“Oh, yeah of course. Where should I put the moke?” 

“Right by the fire, there, thanks. He needs the warmth of the hearth, or he’ll crawl in bed with me. Never quite gotten used to that.” Newt helps him move the moke, because Credence is far from confident with the creatures. When the lizard is happily set on the warm tiles, Newt puts his hand on Credence’s back. “You’re alright, you like your room?” 

“Yes,” Credence nods. “Very much. Thank you.”

Another face from Newt. “Can I get you anything? Is it alright, being alone up there? Is that something you’re comfortable with?” 

“Yes,” Credence says slowly. “What’s… why would I be uncomfortable?” 

“Not sure. Your mother didn’t… er.” Newt looks like he wishes he didn’t ask. “Just tell me, if you’d like company or. I’ll be getting the - I have non-magical animals too, downstairs with the others. If you’d like the cat or dog with you, they definitely won’t hurt you accidentally.” 

“There are cats and dogs?” 

Newt nods, needs no further prompting to lead him downstairs. “Sorry, I forget they’re not like the other creatures,” he says on the way. “Also I keep them away when Fleamont’s over. He’s terrible with animals.” 

“That’s what Dot said.” 

“It’s a fact, but he’s very sensitive about it. Try not to bring it up.” Newt looks back at Credence, smiles at him. “I have birds too. But again, Flea. I’ll bring ‘em up tomorrow." 

The basement is a huge version of the suitcase, and Newt’s already gone on long explanation tangents to discuss the way he mimics natural sunlight and tied in seasonal weather patterns for creatures that are here long-term. The dog and cat are asleep in Newt’s potions workshop, curled up around each other under the bench. The cat is black, Credence notices, and he’s torn between hysteria and dread.

“Here they are,” Newt says, picking up the cat like it’s easy. Credence has seen what can happen when cats are picked up who don’t wish to be, though. “This is Bez, and this big guy is Griff. You want one or both?” 

Credence doesn’t mind being alone, but he’d like having the animals with him. “Both,” he says. “If they’ll be happy.” 

Newt approves of that; he comes a little closer and touches Credence’s arm gently, with the side of his hand. “They sure will, love, here.” He holds out the cat, and Credence panics. 

“I don’t know how.” 

“Put your arms out like for a baby,” Newt says, and no sooner has Credence obeyed than Newt dumps the cat into his arms. And Credence wonders if the cat isn’t magic after all, since it seems like it’s not entirely solid. But then it settles down, sprawled over his arm. “She’s calm,” Newt says. “She won’t hurt you. If she bites, don’t move. She won’t actually bite down.” 

Credence is more than able to hold still. No matter what, maybe. His heart’s beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. “Okay.” 

“Griff will know what you mean most of the time. Picked him up from a Muggle who got Obliviated out of his magical animal breeding, so I think he’s got more sense than other dogs. Which is saying something.” Newt kneels down and pats the dog’s side. “You want to get up, then?” And sure enough the dog rolls to his feet and looks at Credence with his nice brown eyes. His coat is mostly dark, muddled with white and brown. 

Credence covers the cat with his other arm as he climbs the stairs back up. He has a sudden memory, then, of when he brought a cat home. Ma got rid of it. She said it was a natural familiar of the devil, it would lead him astray, and he didn’t see it but he’s always known she killed it. It was just a little kitten. 

Newt puts a hand on his shoulder, and Credence flinches. Newt’s learned not to let that stop him. “Hey,” he says. “Y’alright?”

“Yes.” They’ve reached Newt’s bedroom and Credence pauses. The dog stops too, at his knee, and Newt stops in front of him.

“You sure you’re alright?” Newt says, reaching out to scratch Bez’s head. The cat purrs. 

“Yes, it was just. Ma hated cats.” 

“The whole witch thing?” 

“Right. She. I took one home and I think she killed it,” Credence confesses. 

Newt’s face hardens a little, but he nods twice. “Well, you can bring anything home here. Even Flea’s just inept, but he likes them. In Diagon Alley, you can even get a kitten of your own, if you want.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. Plenty of room.” 

Credence isn’t sure he wants to ask this; he doesn’t want the answer. But it ends up slipping out anyways. “But, uh. What about when I leave?” 

“What do you mean?” Newt frowns. 

“I’m… I just. Since I’m not a obscurus, do you… you don’t need me, right? You’re. Like you have friends, and.” Credence will not be sad. He will not. 

“Credence, what do you think I meant, when I said I’d keep you?” Newt says very gently. 

It’s almost frightening, how kind he’s being. Credence answers quickly, before he can lose his nerve. “Well, I’m a lot more work than a stray dog or something.” 

“I’m not in the habit of only taking easy creatures,” Newt says. “I don’t care if it’s easy. I care about you.” 

“Right, but I’m… it’s gonna be a lot of work. And it’s not your job, I’m not a creature, I’m… and I’m not your job.” Credence wishes the cat wasn’t here so he could move his arms, but instead he just holds Bez tighter. “You said it too, that I needed a job.” 

“Right, but not so I could kick you out.” 

“So when you found me in the beginning, you planned on taking care of me for forever? Or for as long as I needed it, or something?” 

Newt looks him in the eyes, silent and firm. “Yes,” he finally says. “I’m sorry, I thought that was clear. I was never going to turn you out into the streets. And you’re helpful with the creatures, you’re no kind of burden.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, I’m more than sure.” 

Credence can’t just accept it, as much as he wants to. “I’m… no, I’m… it’s different. I’m more work. I’m sure more expensive to take care of, too.” 

“Stop, it’s not about the money, Credence, please. Please believe me. I’m going to keep you as long as you need.” 

“Because you feel like you have to.” 

“No, because I want to,” Newt says, and he repeats it. “I want to help you. I’m not going to change my mind. And I don’t want to change my mind. That room is yours, and you can bring home a kitten or dog or whatever, and it will be safe too. That’s a fact. I promise.” Newt meets his eyes again. “I want you here,” he adds quieter. “I’m not your mother.” 

Credence’s heart falters. “Oh.” 

“Sorry, perhaps that was too rude,” Newt says after a moment. “I’m tired, I’m not at my most tactful.” 

“Does your side still hurt?” 

“Neither here nor there.” Newt glances up to see if he’s gotten away with it, then sighs. “A little. It will probably just take time.” 

Credence nods. That makes sense. He turns to continue up the steps, and Newt calls out to stop him. 

“Credence.” 

He stops on the third stair and looks at Newt. 

“I want you to be here,” Newt says. “I mean it.” 

“Okay.” He can’t say he believes Newt, not quite. Even while he’s holding Newt’s cat and leading Newt’s dog, there’s something telling him that he can’t ever possibly keep this. It must be short-term. 

Newt is aware of what he’s not saying, Credence can see it in his face. “Good night,” is all Newt says. 

“Good night.”

 

 

 

Diagon Alley is as completely unfamiliar as it is comfortingly odd. From the way they open the secret passageway to the contents of the passageway, Credence is gobsmacked, and he feels pretty near tears. 

“Come along,” Newt says after the first moment of awe. “Ollivander’s is most important, we’re going there first.” 

“Only wand-maker worth a damn,” Fleamont says conspiratorially. “Better than any of the Americans, so you’re getting quite a treat.” His coat is different today, a bright deep orange that Credence hardly believes anyone made. He has no trouble thinking Fleamont would ask for custom colors of coats. Everyone looks at him and his coat. Credence is uncomfortable, and with every eye on him, he expects an insult too. He heard what people called his family. Fleamont is much stranger. But wizards don’t insult strangers, it seems, and they pass through the streets unbothered. 

Newt holds the door open for him and Fleamont. Credence wants to ask him if he should do anything, if he needs to be someone he isn’t to get this wand, but he says nothing of the sort. He’s too scared. He walks in, and he’s overwhelmed.

Ollivander’s is cramped, covered floor-to-ceiling in shelving stuffed full of boxes. The bell on the door brings a boy scurrying in from the back. He’s young,maybe not older than Credence, perilously thin, and regards the three of them with an expression impossible to read. “Mr. Scamander, if you’re looking for another wand I’m afraid the one you have is one of a kind,” he says.

“No, not me,” Newt says quickly, and Credence makes a note to ask about that later. “My friend needs a wand. His first. Where’s your father?” 

“Busy.” He looks at Credence. “Jacket off for measurements.” 

Credence obeys, and Newt takes the coat from him. “Arms out,” he whispers, so Credence does that too. A tape measure floats up and begins measuring him with no input from the boy, who is browsing the shelves. 

“Uh, what’s this for?” Credence says after a moment, when his fourth finger is being measured for the third time. 

Ollivander snaps, and the tape measure drops. He pulls a thin box out of the shelves and the wand out from it. He holds it out to Credence, who takes it. He’s not sure what to do with it, but immediately Ollivander snatches it back. “Not right at all,” he mumbles, and hands him another. And then another, and a dozen more. Credence has no time to worry about the mystery of wands, with how hard he has to work to keep himself from flinching at the boy's fast movements. It’s a massive surprise, then, when a wand in his hand shoots red sparks. 

“Curious,” young Ollivander says. “Very curious. One of my father’s experiments. Hornbeam, larch, and unicorn hair, thirteen inches even.Mr. Scamander himself brought us that unicorn hair. He also owns another one of the experiments.”

“Well don’t I feel left out,” Fleamont grumbles. 

Ollivander doesn’t listen to him. “Hidden talent,” he murmurs, looking at Credence. His eyes don’t look as young as the rest of him. “Where did you say you’re from?” 

“He didn’t,” Newt says quickly, helping Credence back into his coat. “Seven galleons, yes?” 

“Correct,” the boy nods, but he looks suspicious still. Fleamont pays him with strange gold coins, and then Newt drags them from the store, barely pausing long enough to get the box for Credence’s wand. 

“Not nearly as charming as his father,” Fleamont says as they head down the street. “He’s a strange one.” 

“What did he mean?” Credence asks Newt. “About it being curious?” 

Newt slows, since they’re a little further away most likely, and he looks at the wand in Credence’s hand. “Wands tend to be made of a single wood. Their cores say things about the wand bearer, as well.” 

“Okay, so what does that mean?” 

“It means you’re unique,” Newt says. 

Fleamont puts his hand heavily on Credence’s shoulder. “It means you’re quite possibly one of the most unique wizards alive, with that wood combination. Larch wood is notorious for being drawn to hidden talents, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You aren’t,” Newt says quietly. 

“Hornbeam I’m less familiar with,” Fleamont says. “Another rare one.” 

Newt is familiar. “Bonds strongly with its owner, tricky, but capable of great power once mastered. Impossible for anyone else to use once it’s bonded, and develops its own sense of morals based on the wand-bearer. Incredibly rare. And apt for you, I believe.” He smiles at Credence a little. “And I knew the unicorn. Does it feel good in your hand?” 

Credence is holding the wand so tightly he’s worried his hand may cramp. “Yes,” he says. It does truly feel his. 

“Good.” Newt’s eyes are warm. “Flea’s gonna get you some wizarding robes. I have to meet some friends and then I’ll be along.” 

“Okay.” 

“Brilliant,” Fleamont says firmly. “Come along, we’ll make you properly stylish. I think you’d look a dream in olive.” 

Credence is already overwhelmed, but he follows Fleamont to the robes store and gamely lets himself be measured and fitted. He has nothing to be ashamed of, no reason to be self-conscious. Fleamont is nothing but encouraging, boisterous even, and his taste is good. By the time Newt comes back, Flea’s amassed a pile of clothes he claims are all for Credence that Credence is still trying to figure out how to talk him out of. 

“God, Flea,” Newt says when he sees the clothes. “Tone it down.” 

“I’ll let the boy pick,” Fleamont says defensively. “These are the options.” 

Newt looks at Credence, possibly for his input. So Credence speaks up. “I don’t need more clothes,” he says.

“Well, wizards dress differently than Muggles,” Newt says apologetically. “We’ll keep Fleamont under control, though. Come, tell me what you like.” He brings Credence over to the stack and stands next to him as Credence goes through the clothing. 

Tentatively, Credence chooses two sets of robes in black and pinstriped grey. 

“Preposterous,” Fleamont says. “If you don’t get the olive ones I shall be terribly upset. Go on.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“My boy, I have far more money than I could spend on myself. I’m more than sure, get them.” 

So Credence does, and he thanks him extensively on the way out, until Fleamont waves him off firmly and completely. “You’re quite welcome,” he says. “Don’t worry for even a second.” 

They Apparate back home, Credence with Newt, and Newt works on his book while Credence works on beginner’s spells in the basement. His wand is definitely his, it listens to him. Helps him reach the magic and hang on. 

The cat, Bez, watches him work, her tail twitching in interest when he manages to levitate a leaf. Credence thinks for a bit about his ma, talking about cats as familiars, and the leaf starts to shake. But then Bez pounces, bringing the leaf down, and Credence reminds himself that Ma knew nothing about actual magic. The cat is a cat. No more or less. 

When Ma’s voice gets too loud, he seeks out Newt, tapping his wand in the opposite palm. It gives off gentle sparks. 

They meet on the steps, Newt heading down as he comes up. “Oh,” Newt says. “Everything going well?” 

“Really well, yes. What are you doing?” 

“Heading down for dinner time.” 

He doesn’t offer an invitation, and Credence tells himself it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want him. “Could I come along? I’ll help.” 

“Yes, of course.” So Credence falls into step with him, and Newt glances at him only twice. “Can I ask, is anything the matter? You don’t need to answer.” 

“No, it’s alright. I just. Thinking about my Ma,” Credence admits in a small voice. “So I’d rather not be alone right now.” 

“Ah.” Newt rolls up his sleeves studiously. “Is it the magic?” he asks casually, calmly. 

“Yes. But not just that.” Credence copies him and rolls up his own sleeves. Showing his scars isn’t frightening here, since Newt has more. “What can I help with?” 

Newt sighs out a huff of breath, thoughtful, and Credence tamps down the fear he feels out of instinct. Sighs aren’t warnings anymore. “Well, the graphorns need some more feed, and the swamp could be seeded with fish again. Are you up for the feed?” 

“Sure,” Credence nods. “Tell me how.” 

“Dig your hands right in,” Newt grins. He likes this, the work, and Credence likes to see him smile. So he gets arm-deep in the mixture of mealworms and wheat and scoops it into buckets. Greenery is next for them as well, big branches of leaves supplementing the ecosystem they have. Newt supervises from afar while he checks the giant beetles for any shell rot. 

The smallest baby graphorn is trying to play when he crushes Credence’s hand between the bucket and his horn, so Credence isn’t angry. He doesn’t think much of it, until Newt says, “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

Apparently that isn’t good enough for Newt. He hops up and gently shoos away the herd to check on Credence. “They’re stronger than you’d think. Let me make sure there’s no cracked bones.” He taps his wand on Credence’s hand, and it glows blue a little, showing what seems to be bones and whatever else is underneath the skin. 

“I could take care of it myself,” Credence says under his breath. 

“You really shouldn’t heal yourself,” Newt says absently. “Works better when you’re objective.” He frowns. “Did your mum ever break some of your fingers?” 

“I… I’m not sure. I never saw a doctor.” 

“Did you ever spontaneously heal yourself? Wake up and notice cuts gone, or something.” Newt puts his wand in his mouth to grab Credence’s other hand and bring it up into his view with the other one. He turns it palm up, and manipulates Credence’s fingers a couple ways. 

“No,” Credence remembers to answer after he’s past being overwhelmed by the touch. “No, I never did. I was mostly trying to stop the magic.”

Newt takes the wand out of his mouth and taps Credence’s other hand, making it glow blue too. “Huh. Okay. Don’t take this wrong, but how can you explain this damage to your nerves and muscles but with no corresponding scarring from the injury?” He bends Credence’s pinky finger inward gently; it’s stiff, resists. 

Credence’s stomach sinks. He doesn’t want to tell him, so he only tells him part. “Oh, uh. I knew a wizard. He wanted information on the obscurus, he thought it was my sister Modesty. And sometimes he’d heal me, if he saw it.” He braces himself for Newt’s reaction, but Newt just nods. 

“Just the skin damage? How odd,” he finally murmurs. “Come sit down, we’re taking care of this.” He hops down out of the ecosystem and helps Credence down by the hand. Then he seats him on an overturned bucket and kneels down next to him. “I’m quite accomplished at healing,” he says before he does anything. “Had to learn, when I was with the dragons. But generally a given wizard is not to be trusted with your injuries, understand.”

“Yes, okay.” Credence flushes; he’s being scolded in Newt’s gentle way. 

“Parts of this will not feel good.” 

“I can take it.” 

Newt gives him a look so warm it feels like being caught in a sunbeam. “I know you can. But you still deserve a warning. Stop me if it’s too much. No shame in a break.” 

“Okay.” 

Newt puts his wand on Credence’s knuckle, taps three times, and says something Credence doesn’t understand. He gasps then, because it feels like his knuckle pops out and back in again, something wiggling under the surface before going still. Newt massages the spot after he’s finished, and has Credence test it. It works better than he can remember it ever working. 

“Something severed some muscle, and it didn’t grow back right,” Newt explains in a soothing tone of voice. The same voice he uses on the baby squid, not that Credence minds. “Next I’m healing the bones in your hand, looks like they were broken years ago and healed poorly.” 

That hurts like they’re breaking again, and Credence feels tears coming to his eyes. But Newt’s holding his hand and he’s fixing it, so Credence doesn’t ask him to stop. When it’s done, the sudden absence of pain feels like a rush of cold relief. Newt massages his hand and watches his face carefully. “Can I keep going?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Credence nods. So Newt does, one injury at at time, with plenty of comfort between each burst of pain. Aches Credence didn’t realize he had are disappearing, and he wonders what else Newt could find wrong with him, if he thought to look. 

Of course, Newt thinks to look. When his hands are fully healed and functional, Newt tucks his wand in his vest pocket and holds Credence’s hands in both of his. He won’t meet Credence’s eyes right away, seems to be searching for words he can’t find. “I’m so,” he begins, then starts again. “Listen, love. We need to talk about this other wizard you knew. And your hands - your mother didn’t just hurt your hands, did she?” 

“No.” 

“Right. Can you… do you mind if I take a look at the rest too?” 

Credence is aware that Newt’s treating him gently, and he likes it but it makes him feel like he can’t give in and let it happen. “Nothing really hurts.” 

“Well. Maybe you’re just used to it.” 

“Like you and the curses from Grindelwald?” Credence says daringly. 

Newt raises his eyebrows, hiding a smile badly. “Yes,” he says. “Probably.” He squeezes Credence’s hands. “How about this; I’ll let you have another go at healing that if you’ll let me try at yours.” 

“But I could get something wrong, couldn’t I? And hurt you. Like you said.” 

“Maybe. You did well before. Let’s see.”

Credence didn’t know trust had a physical weight to it, but he feels it settling over his shoulders. “Okay.” 

“Good. Let’s stock the swamp then, and I can spend the next couple days working on my manuscript.” Newt stands up, helps him up and finally lets his hands go. “Your wand is working well?” he asks, looking down. 

“Yes. Very, it feels too easy, I think.” 

Newt smiles. “Well that’s interesting. Would you like to practice? There’s a tricky little spell for carrying a bubble of water with things in it, a nice challenge, I think.” 

“Okay. I’ll try.” 

He moves fish from the breeding pond to the swamp with magic and a spell, and he’s never felt more magical or more deeply conflicted. Magic isn’t Godly, but then it feels so right whenever he tries it so what could that possibly make him but some agent of the Devil. Newt, though. Newt isn’t bad. So he tastes bile in the back of his throat as he feels like he’s doing the right thing for once in his life, and he just tries not to let it show. 

After that, they head upstairs together. Newt leads him to his bed and sits him down at the foot of it. He pulls over his desk chair and sits across from Credence. “Mine first,” he says. “So you’re at your best.” 

It’s easier to feel comfortable with the whole idea when Newt’s the first one with his shirt off. The big mark is lighter, but not by very much. Credence uses his wand, copies what Newt did and taps his wand on the injury three times. Magic washes through him, drawn through the wand, and Newt shifts but doesn’t pull away. The mark grows lighter still, but more than that, the deep tendrils of bruise beneath the surface shrink into nothing. 

“Didn't even tell you the spell,” Newt says to himself. “Are you able to copy whatever you’ve seen?” 

“I’m not sure. Did it work?” 

“Yes,” Newt says in slight disbelief after stretching. “Yeah, it really did. Bloody hell.” He feels the pink spot. “Who was the wizard you knew?” 

“Mr. Graves. Or Grindelwald, I mean.” 

Newt didn’t expect that; he looks up in genuine shock. “What?” 

“He was the one who wanted the obscurus,” Credence shrugs. 

“Shit,” Newt says after a second. “Well that makes sense, I suppose. He asked after it when he was interrogating me.” He buttons his shirt back up, still looking thoughtful. “He healed your hands?” 

“When he noticed, sometimes.” 

“Was that all he did?” 

“How do you mean?” 

Newt shakes his head. “Magic. Was that all the magic he did in front of you?” 

“He Apparated,” Credence says after a moment of thought. 

“Well, can’t try that. You could splinch yourself, and I don’t want to risk that. That was it?” 

“Yes, I think so. I think he didn’t want to… upset me. With too much.” 

Newt perks up at that; he frowns. “Did I upset you?” 

“Uh, I was already pretty…” He can’t think of the right word. Being the obscurus was undeniable magic, so Newt’s was hardly enough to put it over the edge. Credence decides not to finish that sentence. “What are you looking for, though?”

“Dark magic. Did he do any of that around you?” 

“I don’t think so. He wanted… things out of me. He wanted me to find him the obscurus, so he didn’t… he wasn’t mean.” Until the end. 

Newt is looking thoughtful again as he rolls up his shirtsleeves. Maybe he should just keep them rolled up. He didn’t button up his shirt all the way; Credence gets distracted by the paleness of his chest, his throat. “Well, the obscurus could be dark magic. I’m not entirely sure, I don’t have a lot of experience with it. Maybe that’s why you were able to heal it for me. _Accio notebook._ ” His journal comes to his hand and Newt makes a note with a quill. “It would be interesting to find out if other obscurus have affinities towards healing or the Dark Arts,” he mumbles. 

Credence gets so caught up in watching him that it comes as a surprise to him when Newt looks up at him. “So would you take off your shirt and lie back?”

“I, uh. Yes.” Credence’s heart jumps in his chest. His shirt comes off easily, but he’s scared and Newt sees it in his face. 

“Nothing’s wrong, I don’t want you to have to stay upright if something hurts,” Newt explains. “Does that sound alright?” 

Credence thinks he nods back, but he doesn’t move. Newt comes closer, slowly, and puts his hand on Credence’s bare chest. “Alright?” he asks again, patient. He waits for Credence’s nod to push him back. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, kneeling next to him. “I won’t do anything without your consent.” 

“Okay.”

Newt hasn’t even addressed the scars on his chest and arms. Maybe he hasn’t seen them, because his chest doesn’t have the worst of the scars. Newt taps his wand on Credence’s chest three times, and Credence’s whole body is covered in blue glowing lines. All his bones and muscles. Newt examines him then starting at his feet, and asks a series of questions. 

“Broke your ankle?” 

“Yeah, when I was younger.” 

“The back of your legs, is there damage there? I see abnormalities with your tendons.” 

Credence’s eyes prick with embarrassed tears. “Uh, yes.” 

Newt puts his hand over Credence’s shoulder absently, but he’s not paying attention to his embarrassment. He’s focused on something else. “Looks like your ribs have taken quite the battering. Any discomfort breathing?” 

“Uh.” 

“Take the deepest breath you can,” Newt says, and puts his hand over a particular spot on Credence’s side. Credence obeys, and it is a bit of a struggle at the end, he never breathes that deep. Newt makes a face. “Ah. Did you feel that?”

“I think so.” 

Newt nods. “Yeah, several of them have re-healed strangely. I can fix that right up for you. Can you put your hands palms up on the bed, please.” 

Credence does, and Newt looks at his arms too. “How many times did she nearly nick arteries,” Newt says under his breath, picking up Credence’s wrist to look closer. “What did she use? On you.” 

“Belt,” Credence says. 

“Oh, the buckle then.” Newt rubs his thumb over a thick scar, and Credence shuts his eyes against the tears rising up again. “I can give you more flexibility, I think. Do you have back pain? Aches and stiffness?” 

“Yes.” 

“Most of that I can fix as well.” Newt shifts. “I can give you a potion for the pain before I heal it, it will hurt much more than your hand did.” 

“Right now?” 

“Only twenty minutes to heal it,” Newt shrugs. “An hour for you to recover. No time like the present.” 

“Heal what, exactly.”

“Muscle and bone damage. I can’t heal scars.” 

Credence isn’t sure he wants his scars gone yet anyways. “Okay.” 

“It might be for the best if we cover your eyes. It can be kind of alarming to see your bones poking around as they fix themselves. There’s a smart little spell for that actually.” 

“No,” Credence says immediately. A spell making him unable to see sounds like the scariest thing he can think of. No guarantee he could see again ever, if Newt doesn’t want to give it back. 

Newt is already nodding. “Okay. Would a blindfold be alright? I really think you don’t want to see it. Once I broke my arm, and fainted dead away when I saw the bone moving around when they healed it.” 

“Yes,” Credence says after a second. That might be alright. 

Newt gets the potion first, digging around in his washroom and coming back with a small flask. “This is the potion. No side effects besides sleepiness. I’d say you could drink it all.” 

“Okay.” Credence wants desperately to ask how it tastes. He’s never had medicine before. But he just drinks it. It tastes sweet and sharp, with a bite that lingers in his mouth. 

Next Newt digs in his wardrobe a bit, and comes back with a scarf tie. “This is silk, it’s soft,” he says. “Sit up for a second? I’ll tie it on.” 

Credence obeys, and Newt ties the scarf around his eyes. “How’s this?” he asks, adjusting it around Credence’s eyes. 

“Fine.” 

“You sure? I won’t be cross if you change your mind.” 

Truth be told, it’s tempting. But something in his gut is dying to be fixed, to know if he’ll feel any better in a lasting kind of way. Newt wants to help him, too, and that’s something he can’t bring himself to let go of, in case Newt changes his mind. Something aches for that in the deepest parts of him. “No,” he says, mouth tingling from the potion. “I haven’t changed my mind.” 

“Alright. Lay back, here.” Newt guides him down, puts a pillow under his head, and Credence tries not to let his face show how close he is to tears. It’s fear, and nerves and he can’t even think about how this was all he wanted when he was with Ma. Someone just to care. But he can’t think about that. 

“Now,” Newt says. “You might feel a little strange pressure as things move around. But by the end, you’ll be right as rain.” He shifts a little, and he must be able to tell how Credence’s heart is careening against his ribs, beating double time. “You don’t need to be frightened, it won’t hurt. Here.” He takes one of Credence’s hands and puts it on his knee. “You can feel it, I’m not going anywhere.” 

That works. Credence’s heart slows, and he tries to breathe properly. “Okay.” 

“Is it American, to avoid the doctor, or was it just your mum?” Newt asks out of nowhere. 

“Just her,” Credence says, focusing on his breathing. 

“To hide what she was doing?” 

“Yes.” 

“And your sister, will she need this kind of treatment?” 

“When? Do you know where she is?” 

“No, sorry,” Newt says apologetically. “That sounded misleading. But I’ve written Tina to ask her to look. She’ll find her. And I can heal her then, too.” 

Credence stays silent as he tries to discern if Newt is fishing for information or not, until he decides it doesn’t matter. He’ll tell him either way. “No, she won’t need it. Ma… it was mostly me.” Something in his foot feels strange. 

“I see.” Newt’s silent for a moment, and Credence is itching to take off the blindfold. He focuses on his hand on Newt’s knee. “Any particular cause?” 

“Well, I couldn’t let Ma touch her if I could help it,” Credence says after a moment. “And Modesty never sinned as much as I did.” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

"What do I mean by what?”

“Sinning.” 

Credence’s heartbeat sounds loud in his ears. “Uh, it’s when someone does something wrong. Sinful, like against God.” Of course Newt didn’t know what sinning was. That’s why he hasn’t found anything wrong with Credence. He didn’t know. 

“Like beating your children?” Newt says. “Can't imagine any god would like that much.” His leg shifts under Credence’s hand. 

“That wasn’t, no. God doesn’t… it’s not… He’s not just nice. He punishes those who sin, to try and get them back on the path of righteousness.” 

Newt’s silent for a bit. “Is that what she told you?” he says. 

“That's the truth,” Credence says, and he doesn’t need to see Newt to feel the disapproval. “The girls were better. Modesty had a fake wand, but she couldn’t do anything with it.”

“Doesn't make her any better than you,” Newt says. 

Yes it does. She didn’t have sin in her very core. She didn’t kill Ma. “Maybe,” Credence says. His chest feels funny. 

The seconds of silence before Newt speaks scare him. Then Newt puts his hand over Credence’s on his knee, and says in a clipped voice, “I’m not good at this, but. If you can just believe me. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

He wants to believe it. “Thank you,” he says, which isn’t sufficient but all he has. He’s glad of the blindfold right now, so Newt can’t see how ashamed he is. There is something wrong with him. He’s beyond unclean, he’s weak and cowardly and immoral. He can’t even just be what Newt wants him to be, he can’t be grateful, he just keeps crying. He needs to stop crying. 

Newt’s voice sounds funny. “Can I, uh. I’m sorry, can I touch your-“

“Yes,” Credence says quickly before his voice can crack, and Newt moves his hand to cover Credence’s hair. 

“I mean it,” Newt says. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I really mean it.”

Credence bites his lip to keep anything from spilling out. Newt’s hand in his hair is so nice, he tries to focus on that to feel better, but then he has to try and push it from his mind because it brings him closer to tears again. Especially when Newt begins petting, much like he pets the cat. Newt is still taking care of him, even though he’s not a creature. 

“But if there is,” Credence says, words tumbling out of his mouth. “If there was something wrong with me. Would you still keep me here? Shouldn’t I go, to protect you and the animals.” 

“No,” Newt says insistently. “God no. Don’t think about going without telling me, not even for a second. Understand? I doubt you could hurt most of the creatures even if you tried, and even if you hurt me I don’t want you to go. Is that clear enough? There is no circumstance where I want you to leave.” 

“But I could…” He can’t use the word sin. Newt doesn’t like it. “Do something really really wrong, and you could change your mind.” 

“I’m not changing my mind.” 

“You don’t know what I could do, though.” 

Newt moves, and Credence feels the bed dip when Newt moves closer to his head. “Don’t look down,” Newt says, “understand?” 

“Yes.” 

Newt pulls his blindfold down his nose a little, so Credence can look in his eyes, and he makes firm eye contact. Always special. “I know,” he says. “I’ve traveled the whole world, I’ve seen any number of people and creatures in pain. I know what you’re capable of, and I’m not changing my mind. Clear?” 

“Yes, but.” Credence’s eyes are blurry with tears. 

“I’ll prove it,” Newt says sincerely. “I’ll put in the time.” 

Credence shuts his eyes, and he feels Newt put the blindfold back. Then he puts his hand back in Credence’s hair. “Are you in any pain?” 

“No.” 

“Good. We’re more than halfway done. You’re doing great.” 

There’s silence for a bit, and Credence hears some strange creaking from within his own body. He still feels nothing, so he’s not too alarmed, but it’s the scope that sinks in. The number of times and ways Ma broke him. Maybe he should be angry. Instead he’s just tired.

Newt doesn’t remove his hand from Credence’s hair; maybe he can tell he likes it. It’s not out of character for him to be so kind, but at the moment it feels almost inconceivable. Newt isn’t just being nice now. He plans to keep being nice. He intends to prove it. 

“What do I do?” he says, then clears his throat. “What can I do for you, to… deserve it. Or earn it, or.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

That, he definitely does not believe, but he knows better than to open that up for conversation. He lets Newt’s ridiculous statement stand, and he tries to think of ways he can earn Newt’s kindness anyways. 

“Okay,” Newt says at last. “I think everything’s done moving around. You can take the blindfold off. And you can stay here to rest too, there’s no need to get up. Can I bring you anything?” 

“No.” Credence takes off the blindfold, though a not small part of him wishes Newt were the one doing it. He blinks several times, to get accustomed to the light, and tries to sit up but his chest feels weak. 

“Oh, be careful, yeah,” Newt says quickly, and he helps Credence lie back more comfortably. “That’s why you need the rest. Here.” He covers him with a blanket from the foot of the bed, and helps him prop another pillow behind his head. “Tea?” he says. “Water?” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

Newt nods once, his face rather blank, and he gets up to go to his desk. Credence tries not to feel like he’s done something wrong, because how could not needing something be wrong? There would be no question for anyone other than Newt. But Newt seems to like to be inconvenienced. 

“I’m sorry,” Credence begins, but he has no clear plan on how to continue, so he falls silent instead.

“Why? No, it’s alright. Don’t be sorry.” Newt comes back, and Credence falls further into the rift between anticipation and guilt. Newt stands next to the bed, glancing up at him, and every part of his body looks tense. “Why are you sorry?” he finally asks, rather sheepish. 

“I’m… you’re not happy.” 

Newt frowns a little. “Well,” he begins, and then he stops. “No I’m not. But that’s okay. I’m not happy on your behalf, I’m… well, I’m angry for you, not at you.” He must be able to see something isn’t registering for Credence, because he sits on the edge of the bed and he says, “Look. You said you protected your sister, yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“I wish I could’ve protected _you_ like that. All of you, but particularly you. Humans can be the worst monsters. Are you sure I can’t get you some tea?” 

Credence does his best to smile. “Well it seems like you’d like to get me some tea,” he says after a moment, his heart beating hard in his throat. “But I’m really alright without it.” 

That makes Newt smile. “Okay. No tea. But you _must_ ask me for anything you want, please.” 

“I will.” He might, but only just might. So until then, he lies in bed and does his best to think about nothing in particular. 

He ends up falling asleep, wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later when the cat hops up to sit on his chest. He’s mid-yawn when he realizes he’s in Newt’s bed, not his. The sun has set, the lamps lit, and Newt is at his desk, writing furiously. 

“Excuse me,” Credence says. 

“Yes?” 

“What time is it?” 

“Uh.” Newt checks his pocket watch. “11:32.” 

Credence sits up and gently pushes Bez off of him; his chest only feels a little tight. Other than that, he doesn’t have any aches or pains. He knows why, but it still feels miraculous. “Sorry,” he says. 

“No need, I’m not using the bed. How do you feel?” Newt hasn’t looked up yet.

“Good.” 

Newt looks up then, over his shoulder at him. “Really?” 

“Yes. Thank you. I’m gonna go.” Credence picks up his shirt and puts it back on as he walks out of the room. 

“Stop,” Newt says, and Credence freezes. “I meant everything I said. And as long as I’m alive, I’ll make sure no one else hurts you.” Credence nods, biting his lip again. “Okay. You can stay if you like.” 

He’s writing as he talks, not even looking up; not a big deal, for him it seems. And that gives Credence some kind of confidence he wouldn’t have if there was importance attached to it. He pulls out his wand and tries to replicate the charm Newt did on the chair before. It ends up a little less puffy, and for some reason a shocking periwinkle, but he likes it just the same. “I’ll stay,” he says, just in case Newt wants to change his mind. “I’m just getting my book.”

“Okay, good,” Newt says absently. He’s not paying any attention. So Credence comes back with his book of magical history and studies while Newt keeps writing. After a moment, Credence summons the blanket across the room and into his lap, trusting Newt won’t care. And he doesn’t. Bez comes to sit in his lap. Eventually, Griff wanders into the room and sits at Newt’s feet. Credence falls asleep there again, and he’s not afraid to wake up. 

 

 

 

The strangest things give him flashbacks to his Ma, especially when he thinks they won’t happen anymore. Knocking on the door of the girls’ house, he has a sudden memory of doing that in New York, leaflets in his aching hands, Ma at his back, and dread ripples through him. 

Flora answers the door, paint smudged on her forehead. “Oh,” she says when she sees him. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” he says after a second. “Thank you.” 

“Okay.” She looks at him for several more moments. “So why’re you here?” 

“Right. Sorry. Newt wanted, uh. He’s writing his manuscript, and he forgot to go shopping. So he asked if… could one of you help me, um. Shop? For food.”

Flora watched that all, gaze sharp, and once he’s done she smiles. It doesn’t make him feel any better. “Sure,” she says. “Dot will come too. Come in, we’ll get ready.” 

He lets her lead him in and almost takes his shoes off before he remembers this isn’t Newt’s house. Strange that Newt’s feels so much more like home than the church ever had. 

Flora starts upstairs, and he pauses before following - surely she can’t want him to come along, plus he hears Ma’s whispers in his ear about whores, Jezebels, and he thinks he might not ever be free of that voice, her judgement. But when she realizes he’s not following, Flora pauses and turns around. “Darling,” she says. “Y’coming?”

“Oh. Yes…” 

“Ah,” she says. “The impropriety of all of it. I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

He wants to find it funny, but there’s still a bit of a vice around his heart when he takes a step forward. “Right.” 

“Come on, then. Our parlor is rather dominated by my paintings at the moment.” 

The girls are nice. Flora and Dot especially so, and they don’t want to hurt him or anything. The first step is the hardest, but after that it’s fine. It’s going to be fine. Ma was wrong about a lot, and he’s known the girls for almost a month now, he knows them well enough to be upstairs with them. It’s not sin. And if it was, it might not matter. 

Their house is just like Newt’s, and Flora’s room is where Newt’s is. Dot is sitting near the window, reading; she smiles when she sees them. “Hello, dear,” she says. “Is anything wrong?” 

“No,” Credence says. 

Flora sighs at him a bit. “He needs help shopping for food. Newt has fallen deep within his manuscript, I suspect. Now he’s got a helper.” 

“Brilliant,” Dot agrees, and shuts her book. “You came to the proper place, the men don’t know how to buy food at all. They rely on the magic, and they’re bad at it on top of that.”

“Newt’s not bad,” Credence says. 

“Well, he’s not great. I’ve eaten with him,” Dot says. “Has he given you any kind of shopping list?” 

Credence shakes his head. “Should he have?” 

Flora looks at Dot, and Dot looks back. “Nah,” Flora says. “We’ll figure it out, he has normal tastes. Did he give you money, at least?” 

“Yes,” Credence is glad to say. “He did. Fifty pounds.” 

“Good gracious,” Dot says. “Does he expect us to shop for his creatures as well?” 

“I don’t think so. He wasn’t really paying much attention.” 

“Is the writing going well?”

“He has a very large stack of paper so. I think so.” Credence is ill at ease. He can see Flora’s bed. Ma would say it’s wrong, but she never met the girls. They’re not immoral in any kind of way. His stomach is twisting up. He’s holding more money than he’s ever seen before, and imposing on Dot and Flora. He might be sick. 

Flora frowns at him. “Well, shall we get going? Are you sure you’re alright, you look unwell.” 

“I… I’m just tired, probably,” Credence lies. But a good lie, to save them any worry. He’s being good. 

“I see. Dot, will you join us?” 

“Of course. Let me find my gloves.” 

At the market, Dot tells an acquaintance that Credence is her brother. The word fills him with guilt, and at the same time he finds it hard to believe someone could look at her and him and find them similar. 

“You do rather look alike,” Flora muses on the stroll back home. The air is damp, clouds of steam curling above all three of them as they talk. “Something in the chin area. That’s convenient, isn’t it. If any old buggers question us, we’ve got the perfect explanation. How old are you?” 

“I’m, uh. Not sure. Ma didn’t want us to celebrate them, so uh. More than twenty, maybe. Not much more.” 

Dot nods. “I’m thirty-four. Do we have a lot of other siblings?” 

_An old maid,_ Ma tells him. He’s carrying most of the bags, so he has to keep going, he can’t stop. Dot could be his older sister. “Maybe.” 

“I think we do,” Dot continues conversationally. “We should coordinate stories.” 

“Oh. Yes.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Flora asks Credence. 

“Two sisters,” Credence says, and dares a joke. “Besides you.”

The girls snort. He can’t remember if he's ever made a successful joke with someone other than Newt. Maybe the girls like him too. They’ve been nice every time they’ve seen him. It’s a reasonable possibility. 

“That’s the spirit,” Dot’s saying. “I had brothers. Including you.”

“Only girl in her class at Newnham College,” Flora says proudly. 

“Where are your brothers?” Credence asks. 

Flora looks at Dot; that was the wrong question to ask. She answers, though. “They died while I was in school.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence says. 

“Don’t be, you didn’t know. All of us are far too familiar with death, here. Flora lost her brother when she was a kid, Meg’s father tried to kill himself after killing _his_ father, and Flea’s mum died when he was young. And I’m sure you know about Newt.” 

“Yes,” Credence nods, trying to remember what they know about him. His mother and sister are dead, other one missing. 

“No need to be strange about it, is what she means,” Flora says after a moment. “We all understand. You can talk about it if you want to. Have you seen the doctors at St. Mungo’s?” 

“Newt suggested it, but I haven’t yet.” 

“I don’t put much stock in that talk therapy nonsense,” Dot says. “I’ll see a doctor when my arm breaks. But the magician people seem to enjoy it. Your choice, I suppose.” 

Flora sighs a little. “It’s not nonsense,” she says. “But it’s not for everyone, I suppose. And it doesn’t seem like you’re much for talking.” 

“Right,” Credence agrees gratefully. “Do you, uh. Do you think Newt will be cross if I don’t go?” 

“I don’t think Newt would be cross if you burnt his house down, as long as the animals weren’t in it,” Dot says. “Don’t worry. Do whatever’s best for you. Are you learning magic, or has Newt forgotten that in the manuscript haze?” 

“I’m learning,” Credence says. “But he hasn’t had much time to help.” And then he worries, abruptly, that was the wrong thing to say. That he could get Newt in trouble with someone. 

“Just like him,” Dot says. “Mind if we come over and help?"

“Sure, yes, I don’t think Newt would mind.” 

“Newt won’t, will you?” she presses. He wonders if he’s ever looked like her as she does now, fierce and strong, eyes piercing and bottomless. 

Credence does his best to match her gaze. “No,” he says. “If you want to.” 

“Of course we do, we won’t let Newt starve ya on accident,” Flora says brightly. “Haven’t seen him for a bit, either, have we.”

“Sure haven’t. Maybe we can coax him into having a proper dinner. Has he been eating?” Dot inquires to Credence. 

He’s never been included in a conversation so actively before. They aren’t speaking to him on accident. “I think so, yes. He doesn’t remember he should eat, but he remembers I should. And I’m usually with him. So he has.” 

The girls exchange a look, and Flora says, “Well that’s a welcome surprise. Seems that you might be good for him. Last time he got involved in a project, he didn’t eat for three days, legitimately.” 

Credence didn’t eat for three days more than once, but he thinks that’s bad conversation-making. “Oh,” he says. “Good.” He’s glad they’re almost home; he’s cold, and he’s not used to it anymore. “I’ve been helping with the creatures, too,” he adds. “So he can write more. I think it’s going well.” 

“Y’wanna come live with us?” Flora teases. 

Dot snorts. “Yeah, we could use it. Meg cleans but she whinges the whole time, and we all forget meals depending on what we’re doing.” She pushes open Newt’s gate and holds it for the other two. “Where is Meg, Flo, do you know?” 

“I believe she went to an audition. She’ll come over if she’s back by supper.” 

Credence feels another twist of fear when they walk into the house, no knocking, but Newt’s nowhere to be seen and not at all bothered. The girls take off their shoes without reminder, another huge relief. He needs to be calmer, Credence reflects. Things don’t often go wrong quickly here. He’ll probably be fine. 

“I’m,” he begins, and still loses the nerve no matter what was just trying to tell himself. “I’ll go check on Newt, if that’s alright.” 

“Sure, we’ll handle these,” Dot says, taking the bags from him after setting down her own. “Tell the hermit to come down, if he can.” 

“I’ll ask,” Credence says, with no confidence he’ll find the nerve to do so. Newt’s work is important. He doesn’t want to stop him, even for his own good.

Newt’s at his desk, as usual. He doesn’t notice Credence coming in until he’s directly addressed. “Newt?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Dot and Flora are here, they’ve offered to make dinner if that’s alright.”

“Of course, that’s fine.” Newt looks back down. 

“Wait, uh.” Credence hesitates. “Would you like to come down? And visit? They’ve asked about you. If that’s… if you’d like to.” 

Newt looks at him, uncomprehending, and Credence is about to repeat himself when Newt finally answers. “I could probably use a break. Hand’s cramping and that.” 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Credence asks as Newt gets up. 

“A bit, after you turned in. Couple hours.” Newt, already usually pale, looks positively ghostly with dark circles under his eyes making his pallor even worse. “Have you checked on the animals today?”

“Yes, I did in the morning. They’re all well.” 

“Wonderful, thank you.” Newt rubs his eyes. “What are they making?” he asks, starting down the stairs. “Dot and Flora.” 

“I think that’s why they wanted to see you,” Credence says.

“Well, I’m far from picky,” Newt murmurs, half to himself. Credence sees him put on a bit of a brave face at the bottom of the steps then, and he greets their friends. “Hello.” 

“Goodness, Newt, you look just like a skeleton,” Dot says. “And I would know.” 

“Tactful as always, Dorothy,” Newt sighs, and Credence rounds the corner into the living room just in time to see Dot grin at that. 

“Sorry, mate, but you do,” she says. 

“Looks a sight better than he would without Credence, I can tell you that,” Flora says confidentially to the other girl. “At least he hasn’t gone days without eating. How’s the book coming?”

Newt shrugs. “Nearly done,” he says, and lets his smile break over his face. 

“Wonderful. Sit down, don’t try to help us,” Dot orders. She moves Newt to the table with her hands on his shoulders. “I know your opinions on having people serve you, and I’d like you to stick it and sit down. Would you like some tea?” 

“Sure,” Newt says with effort. Credence nods too, when Dot looks at him. 

“What are your opinions on having people serve you?” Credence asks in an undertone, curiosity and conversation-making mixing conveniently. 

Newt gives Dot’s back an exasperated look. “Nothing as dramatic as it sounds. I just prefer to not have anyone waiting on me, human or not.” He glances up at Credence, who is obviously confused. “Wizards have house elves that wait on them,” he adds then. “Especially old pureblood families, which. My father’s family is.” 

“Pureblood?” 

“Ah, yes. Even the magical community isn’t immune to discrimination based on race, it seems. Pureblood just means no history of Muggle blood in your family. Has nothing to do with purity, really.” Newt runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more. 

“Oh,” Credence says. “Well you seem tired. So it’s probably okay for you to have a moment.” 

Newt puts on a tired smile. “I believe that’s our girl’s point.” 

“Right.” 

Flora brings them tea. “Sit,” she says. “Don’t think about your writing, and certainly don’t talk about it. Even you need a break. Even from your passion.” 

“You’re probably right,” Newt admits. “Tell us about your paintings, then.” 

Flora grins. “Don’t mind if I do. Credence, what do you know about watercolors?” 

“Nothing,” he’s happy to admit, because then Flora gets to tell them about it, and he likes hearing the girls talk the same way he likes hearing Newt. He likes to listen, because they like to be listened to.

Dot declares herself best at breakfast food, so they eat for dinner, the full English Credence is getting increasingly fond of, toast only a little burnt because Flora got to talking about her favorite kinds of trees. And by the end of dinner, Newt has a little more color to his cheeks and he’s smiling a lot. To be sure, that’s likely to do with the wine they had with dinner - “Damn the rules,” Dot declared to general glee - and less to do with the company and food. 

When the wine’s gone and the night gone quiet between the four of them, Newt puts his hand over Credence’s. “Thank you for taking care of my creatures. I’m going to go look in on them so they don’t get cross.” 

Credence nods. He doesn't ask to come with him; this chair is comfortable, and he doesn’t want this night to end. Every nice moment feels like it could be his last. So Newt gets up and leaves, and Credence is prepared to bask in the comfortable air of the evening. The girls, it seems, have other plans. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Dot whispers as soon as Newt’s down the stairs, leaning across the table to fix her eyes more closely on Credence. 

“What was what?” he asks, flushing in advance. 

“Newt, with the hand on yours.” Dot demonstrates on Flora, who seems amused and sleepy. “What was that?” 

“He was… he was just getting my attention,” Credence hesitates. Has he done something wrong he was unaware of? Wouldn’t be the first time. “Sorry,” he adds after a second. 

“Are you kidding? Don’t be sorry, that’s a miracle,” Dot says. “Flo, tell him. I’ve never seen Newt willingly touch another human being. Not once. He doesn’t like it. Or he didn’t before.”

“She’s right,” Flora nods. “He usually doesn’t.” 

“Well…” Credence is unsure how to respond. He doesn’t know what they want; reasons or justification or some explanation of Newt’s behavior. 

Flora sighs a little. “Don’t get self-conscious,” she says. “That’s not what Dot meant. We’re just… curious.” 

“More than that,” Dorothy objects. “Blown away. He must like you.” 

Credence’s heart clenches. Newt must like him. “I don’t know,” he says. “I thought… I didn’t know it wasn’t normal.” 

“Who knows,” Flora says mildly. “Maybe it is normal for him. None of us have met his family or school friends. It’s a gap in our research of dearest Newt. This is some new data, for certain.” 

They’re being kind, but all Credence is think is that he’s done something wrong, yet again. He’s asked for too much from Newt, too much familiarity. He should’ve known, he should’ve been better. He picks at his thumbnail with his opposite thumb. 

“Maybe it's just because we don’t live together,” Dot muses to Flora. “They’re more familiar. More quiet moments.” 

“And he was a creature,” Flora yawns. “Newt’s better with those than people.” 

“What do you mean?” Dot frowns.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t put it together, that Credence was the obscurus.” 

Flora is so sleepy and calm that it doesn’t occur to Credence that he needs to be worried until Dot fixes him with another one of her sharp looks. “Were you?” she demands, leaning closer again. 

“Uh, yes, but that’s supposed to be… they want to arrest me.” 

“Oh love, we aren’t telling anyone,” Flora snorts. “Newt dances on the Statute of Secrecy daily, so believe me, we can’t risk any visit from the Aurors.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Which part?” 

“The Statute of Secrecy,” Credence says. 

“Oh. Muggles aren’t supposed know about magic. It’s kind of the most important rule for wizards, I’m surprised Newt hasn’t mentioned it, honestly, it’s one of a few crimes that can get you executed. If you get caught.”

Credence frowns. “Wait, how does Newt break that?” 

Both girls look at him strangely. “Darling,” Flora finally says. “You don’t know?” 

“Uh, no?” 

“Well, if he doesn’t know, I shan’t be telling him, Dot. Let Newt handle it.” Flora shuts her eyes then, and possibly dozes off. 

Dot smiles at her. “Yeah, we’ll let Newt be the one to decide how much you need to know. He’s broken rules of all kind, anyways, this one is far from the worst. So you’re the obscurus?”

“I was,” he says. “I’m not anymore. The Aurors killed it somehow, I’m not sure. We’re not sure. I can do magic just fine, so.” He shrugs. “I’m not dangerous anymore, I don’t think.” 

Flora snorts. “Duh,” she mumbles. 

“What was it like?” Dot asks. “Having that come out of you. Powerful?” 

“Yes,” Credence nods once. “Very. But… it wasn’t me, I think. It felt different.” He’s not sure why he’s voicing these thoughts that he has barely thought to himself, to these girls that his mother’s voice still tells him are harlots. It just feels right, and Newt would say not to worry. Credence does his best. 

“So it’s like an alternate personality?” Dot asks.

“No, it took over completely,” Credence says. “I couldn’t remember what I did, when it happened. It took a long time to figure out what was happening.”

“I bet. And all the while, your mother was preaching about the dangers of witchcraft?” When he nods, Dot shakes her head. “Enough to give any person an evil parasitic complex, I’d imagine.” 

He tries to smile. She’s trying to make him smile, and he wants her to succeed. “Yeah. It was…”

“I can see why Newt decided to keep you,” Dot says quietly. “You’ll be safe here, y’know. No religion or anti-witch sentiment here.”

Credence looks down at the table. “Yeah,” he says. No belts either, he wants to say without having explain. Maybe he’ll say it to Newt later. Newt would listen. “Would you like more tea?” he asks. 

“No, we should get back,” Dot says, looking at Flora affectionately. “She wants to paint during dawn tomorrow.” 

“Do you need help getting home?” 

“No, sweetheart, thank you. You keep an eye on Newt. I’ve got my girl under control.” Dot stands, stretches and yawns, and then helps Flora stand up. Credence shadows them to the door, just in case they need help, but Dot even manages to put on her shoes and Flora’s without needing any help. She has impressive balance. She shivers at the brisk air when he opens the door, and manages a final smile. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” After shutting the door behind her, Credence goes downstairs to find Newt. 

It takes some searching. Newt’s not in the shed, nor the mooncalf pasture, not with the Nundu or the Graphorns. He’s not in with the obscurus or in the greenhouse. Finally, Credence finds him in the bamboo forest, sitting with all of the occamys in his lap. They let Newt pet him, whatever he says about absolutely under no circumstances attempting the same. 

Credence sits next to him when Newt doesn’t react to his presence, and the silence between them stretches over the whole forest like a damper. Newt nods at him for a second, and then he goes back to his occamys. 

“Sorry, was there something you wanted?” Newt finally asks. 

“No, I’m sorry. The girls left.” 

“Right, okay.” 

Credence must bring it up. “They know I’m the obscurus. Or that I was.” 

“Oh. You didn’t tell them.” 

“No,” Credence shakes his head. “They guessed. And told me about it after some wine. They won’t say anything, will they?” 

“No,” Newt says immediately. “They’re good people.” 

He nods and says more after a moment. “And they said that you break a lot of rules, some Statute of Secrecy. What is that?” 

Newt doesn’t even hesitate before answering. “It’s an archaic, out-dated law that says Muggles can’t be made aware of the wizarding world without having immediate family in it. Or upon marriage.” 

“Oh. But what have you done?” 

“Dot and Meg are Muggles,” Newt says briskly. 

Credence is shocked, but not as much as he should be, he thinks. The information doesn’t have much weight to it. Everyone he’s ever known was a Muggle, according to these British people. “Oh,” he says. “So they shouldn’t know about your creatures?” 

“Or see any magic, or know about my book. If anyone from my family or the government ever stops by, you must pretend. Is that a problem?” 

“No.” 

“Right. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew.” 

“You knew?” 

“Yes. Or I assumed. Sorry, should I have asked?” 

Credence lets out a deep breath, not exactly a sigh. “No,” he says. “But I can lie better when I’m prepared.”

“Fair enough,” Newt says, with a flash of a smile. “I’ll tell you next time, then. I forget, y’know. That you can talk back.” 

“That I’m not one of the other animals?” 

Newt shrugs, then glances at him with what seems to be a flash of apprehension. “Not precisely. I know you’re a person.” 

“No, I don’t mind. It seems… you seem more comfortable with me than you do with people, maybe,” Credence says quietly. 

Newt doesn’t say anything for a moment, but it’s more than clear that he’s paying attention to him still. Finally, Newt says, “Yes, I am. You’re straightforward, for me. I have to say.” He pauses, very casual about the occamy twining around his neck. “I’m alright at interpreting human actions, or emotions. I’m just complete rubbish at acting on it. Applying it.” 

“Right.” 

“And with the way you were raised, you’re rather good at it. Hopefully good enough for both of us. In order to make these occamys stay small, I put some false spacial compression spells on the space here, can you feel them?” 

“No.” 

Newt gives him a bit of a smile. “Good. Made up the spell myself.” 

He’s smart. Another thing Credence is prone to forgetting in the light of the everyday reality of Newt, scatterbrained and alternatively too quiet and surprisingly loud. Credence should be more in awe, he thinks, of this very kind man who saved him and his incredible talent. 

**Author's Note:**

> All the friends Newt has are people who conceivably could've lived in that part of London during that time frame. Meet the cast: 
> 
> Meg is Margaret Rutherford, an actress who debuted in 1925. Her father really did have a nervous breakdown and kill his father, and her mother committed suicide. 
> 
> Dot is Dorothy Garrod, the first woman to hold an Oxbridge chair. She was a hard-working, talented archeologist and I love her. 
> 
> Flora is Flora Twort, an artist from Hampshire. She's known for working with watercolors and pastels, and her family had eight kids. (jeez)


End file.
